


This Supreme Mystery of Love

by flightinflame, LourdesDeath



Series: The Light That in Us Burns [4]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Protective Newt Scamander, Protective Original Percival Graves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 33,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10057628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightinflame/pseuds/flightinflame, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LourdesDeath/pseuds/LourdesDeath
Summary: Percival and Newt are pretty excited about having a child together, but their celebration is interrupted when Credence finds them, alive and pregnant with a child left behind by Grindelwald.





	1. All Your Children At Our Door

**Author's Note:**

> Flightinflame asked for a prompt and an entire universe was born. 
> 
> Title comes from Oscar Wilde's [Ave Maria Gratia Plena.](https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Ave_Maria_Gratia_Plena)

Percival wasn’t always like this.

There was a time when he could walk down the street and not feel eyes on himself, when he didn’t need to pay attention to his surroundings at all times.

Perhaps being kidnapped and held prisoner by someone who stole his face and impersonated him for months really  _ had _ changed him, in spite of what everyone else thought.

Most of the time, he could simply look around and see that no one was following him, that everyone else was minding their own business.

But today is… different.

It feels like a wand being held to the back of his head as he walks down the street with Newt. They aren’t quite comfortable touching in public yet, but a part of him is so excited he could sweep Newt up and kiss him for hours right there on the sidewalk.

Every time he’s considered it, he feels that  _ wrongness _ behind them and stops.

Percival turns around and sees a long coat disappear into an alleyway.

He acts like he didn’t see it. If they’re this stupid, it’ll be easy to take them down, even if they  _ are _ one of Grindelwald’s followers.

Newt’s apparently oblivious, carrying his suitcase with his chin held high. Percival knows some people will judge them for what they’ve decided, but they both wanted this, and neither of them is interested in what others have to say.

They stop in front of a shop window and Newt practically presses his nose to the glass.

“I’ll be right back,” Newt says.

Percival smiles at him, and Newt lingers for just a moment. It’s… hard not to touch him, to feel what grows inside him even if it’s too young and small to be detected by anyone other than a mediwitch.

The presence returns, closer than it’s dared to be so far, and Percival watches Newt on the other side of the glass for a moment. If they’re this bold, they might go after Newt, and he can’t risk that.

He apparates to where the presence is, and is shocked when whoever it is doesn’t apparate away. Instead, they try to run, and Percival just has to reach out and grab their trailing coat to catch them.

Pulling them back, he spins them and slams them into the brick of the building behind which they’d been hiding.

“What the fuck do you want?” he asks before he even registers their face.

He doesn’t expect two big, brown eyes to stare back at him, or the complete terror he sees in them.

“M—Mr. Graves, I…”

Percival looks over the face again.

He’s only seen Credence Barebone once before, when Goldstein dragged him out to prove how the boy was mistreated by his mother.

Percival remembers the reports, how Credence had been Grindelwald’s pawn, and the damage that had been done by him. No one knew how complicit Credence had truly been.

“You here to finish what Grindelwald started?” Percival growls.

Credence’s eyes twitch downwards and then back to Percival’s face.

“What poison did he leave behind in you?”

Those eyes get even bigger and Credence opens his mouth to reply just as a shadow falls over them from the end of the alleyway.

“What is it, dear?” Newt’s voice rings out, and Percival curses himself for not finishing this before Newt could get close enough to be harmed as well. “Who is…” Newt’s footsteps echo in the enclosed space before he stops a few paces away. “Credence?”

Credence flinches and pushes himself against the wall.

Not to escape, Percival realizes, but to cower.

“He was following us,” Percival says.

Newt pulls Percival’s hands off of the boy’s shoulders. “I wasn’t sure you’d survived, Credence,” he says, his voice low and gentle, the way it is for all frightened creatures. “What’s wrong? What are you hiding?”

Percival hadn’t noticed that Credence’s hands are fisted in the coat, keeping it closed over himself despite the warm day, or that his face is thinner than it had been the last time he saw him. Credence’s pale cheeks are sunken and his eyes look almost bruised with the greyish bags under them.

Newt all but shoves Percival out of the way to get a better look at Credence. His gaze lingers on the thick coat and the holes in it, as well as where it’s been patched up and the mismatched thread is visible against the wool.

“You’re alright, you’re safe,” Newt says. “Let me see what’s wrong so I can help you.”

Credence doesn’t look any more pleased with the situation than Percival feels, his back pressed against the wall so he can lean as far away from Newt as possible.

But Newt coaxes him gently, separating his hands to get a better look. Under the coat is a shirt that may have been white, once a upon a time, but is now stained a light yellow. Percival is pretty sure he would be able to see Credence’s ribs if the shirt weren’t so loose on him… except for over his belly.

The buttons strain over his skin, the fabric gaping open to reveal skin that’s hardly darker than his shirt.

Newt pulls out his wand and waves it in Credence’s direction, giving him an apologetic look when Credence flinches away from it.

“ _ Egritudo _ ,” Newt murmurs, and a gold light surrounds the young man. It glows over his head and shoulders, but it’s brightest over his belly. Newt’s eyebrows snap together as the light over Credence’s belly gathers into something that resembles a human.

Credence’s eyes are on the little form, wide and terrified, but he doesn’t move, hardly even breathes.

“Credence,” Newt says. His quiet tone carries a weight that demands attention. “Are you pregnant?”


	2. All Your People Lost and Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title for chapter 2 (and chapter 1) is from God of Day and God of Darkness by Marty Haugen.

Credence knows he’s never been any good at sneaking. He was always too scared to hide from his Ma.

She always said he couldn’t hide from God’s eyes anyway, that God knew he was a sinner and he could only work to fix himself.

He wants to talk to talk to Mister Graves, to ask for help, but he doesn’t deserve it. No one would want a child that was born on the wrong side of the sheets—especially a child that was born of two men.

Credence hadn’t believed it could be true, but Mister Graves had told him there would be a baby and it would be theirs and now there’s an unmistakable swell to his stomach.

There’s another man with Mister Graves as he follows them. Credence almost remembers him if he thinks hard enough.

Credence jumps into an alley when Mister Graves turns around.

He’s too stupid to try and follow someone. Before long, Mister Graves is in the alley as well, and slamming Credence into the wall.

The other man finds them and he knows something is wrong with Credence. Credence thinks maybe this other man is like his Ma and is able to see when someone’s a sinner.

When a spell is cast over him, he wants to curl up and hide from it… but he can see the little shape of a baby in the lights, and it’s the first time he’s seen it.

The other man asks if he’s pregnant.

It’s a sin to lie, but it’s also a sin to have a baby outside of wedlock and to lie with a man.

Maybe he can repent, if he just tells the truth now.

He can’t say it. Ma always beat him when he couldn’t confess his sins, but he’s just too scared to speak.

He nods instead. He’s always been a sinner, maybe God can forgive him not saying it out loud as long as it’s the truth.

Mister Graves makes a noise, and Credence’s legs finally start working again when he sees the man’s face.

He’s so angry.

Credence can’t help stepping backward away from him until his feet get tangled under him and he falls on his backside.

The second man rushes forward and Credence can still see how the baby had been a little picture in the air. He knows that babies can die from the mother getting hurt, and he can’t let that happen.

He curls up as much as he can around his belly and waits for the first strike. It’s okay if he gets hurt as long as the baby doesn’t.

It’s so quiet in the alley, the only sound is Credence trying to keep his breathing even. Ma didn’t like him crying when he was punished, and Mister Graves…

Mister Graves just made it hurt more when he cried.

A hand touches his shoulder and Credence jumps even though it doesn’t hurt because… it doesn’t hurt.

He feels as someone settles beside him and Credence risks a punishment by looking to see who’s there.

It isn’t Mister Graves, but the other man. He looks a little sad but at least he isn’t angry.

“Credence,” the man says.

Credence feels a little comforted whenever the man says his name. His accent is different from most people’s, and Credence likes that.

“Can we help you?”

He knows of people who can help. He doesn’t want that, doesn’t want his baby killed the way his Ma always talked about wicked, loose women who cared more about sinning than their babies.

“We won’t hurt either of you,” the man’s hand is warm on Credence’s back.

He trusts the man, although he doesn’t know why. And there really isn’t any other option. He’d followed Mister Graves because he needed help and the man was offering it to him now.

Credence nods and that hand rubs warmth over his shoulders.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it isn’t a warm rush of magic over his skin and the world going dark for a moment.

When he can see again, Credence bites back whatever sounds try to crawl from his throat. He remembers this place, although he’s only been here once.

He feels another rush of air and magic over his skin and Mister Graves is standing above him.

The sounds escape this time.

Mister Graves hadn’t been angry last time, but it had hurt so much that he’d gotten mad when Credence couldn’t stay quiet and the pain had been so much worse after that.

What will it feel like this time, when Mister Graves is angry from the start? And what about the other man? Will he do the same as Mister Graves?

He waits for Mister Graves to come close, to grab Credence by the shoulders and kiss him again. He’d liked that part, before, but his Ma always had a sneer for anyone who kissed like that.

But Mister Graves just puts down the suitcase he’s carrying. “I’m going to get the Goldsteins,” he says, and vanishes.

That leaves the other man alone with Credence, one arm still wrapped around him.

The man drags the suitcase closer with his free hand. He pokes at something on the join between the two halves of it and opens it up.

Credence’s mouth waters as the smell of food wafts from the suitcase.

“When did you last eat?” the man asks.

He has to swallow a few times before he can answer. “Th-Three days ago, sir.” The man probably wouldn’t care that he got sick after eating the bread he’d found that day.

Blue eyes turn on him. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Credence looks away. He knows he’s stupid and forgetful, but it hurts to admit it to someone who’s only been kind to him so far. “I’m sorry, sir.”

The man pulls his arm away. Credence misses his touch immediately. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.” The man reaches for the suitcase and pulls out a pastry.

Credence doesn’t look directly at it—it’s impolite to beg for food—but the quick glance he gets of it tells him it’s a perfect golden color like the pastries he sees in bakeries.

“But I’d rather you ate something before I explained everything to you,” the man says, and the pastry is held out to him.

Credence isn’t sure what to do—the man must have bought it for himself, why would he give it away? He isn’t given a choice when the pastry is wrapped in a handkerchief from the suitcase and dropped in his lap.

“Eat up.”

He looks down at the bundle in his lap. It’s practically the size of his fist—entirely too much for just Credence.

But the man stares at him expectantly until Credence says a prayer of thanks and a Hail Mary for forgiveness and picks up the pastry. He holds the bun by the handkerchief and takes a bite.

It tastes better than anything he’s ever eaten, and Credence almost doesn’t hear the man starting to talk.

“My name is Newt Scamander. I’m a Magizoologist.”

Credence doesn’t know what that means, but he’s not supposed to ask questions, and he’s hungry anyway, so he continues to eat. The bun has something red on the inside. It’s sweet and keeps the bun from being too dry.

“I came to New York from England a few months ago for work, but because of… certain circumstances, I ended up staying here.”

Mister Scamander grabs another pastry out of the suitcase. He looks down at it, but he doesn’t look hungry, just sad.

“I tried to help you, Credence,” he says, returning the pastry to where he got it. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t do so until it was too late.”

Credence swallows what’s in his mouth. “It’s… not your fault, Mister Scamander.”

Mister Scamander chuckles. “If I’d wanted to be called ‘Mister Scamander,’ I would’ve gone into government like my brother.” He smiles, and Credence likes his smile. “Call me Newt.”

He looks down at the now-empty handkerchief. “But it’s my fault, Mi—Newt. If I’d done what Mister Graves wanted, none of this would’ve—”

“This isn’t your fault, Credence.” Newt’s so firm when he says it, and the air feels a little thicker when Credence takes another breath. “People used you, and that’s not your fault.”

Credence wouldn’t have argued with him even if Mister Graves hadn’t appeared in the room again.

He clutches the handkerchief, and is surprised when there’s another rush of air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll see if this whole new chapter daily thing keeps up. (But for now I have chapters and no self restraint, soooooo)


	3. And Grace My Fears Relieved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from Amazing Grace

Two women appear behind Mister Graves.

“Credence!” one of them says. She kneels on the floor and throws her arms around him, holding him tightly.

Credence holds the handkerchief out with his left hand so she won’t get any of the filling that spilled out of his bun onto her clothes, but his right hand is tucked under her coat. It would be childish and stupid to try and hold onto it so she keeps hugging him, but it’s nice while it lasts.

She sits back up, smiling, but there are tears in her eyes, too. He looks away because he hates that he’s made someone as nice as her cry.

“Do you remember me?” she asks.

Credence nods. “You’re Tina.”

Tina smiles even wider. “I’m so happy you’re alive, Credence. We thought…” her lips shake a bit and she blinks rapidly. “We didn’t know if you’d made it.”

He doesn’t know why she’d be happy about that, but it is nice to see her again.

After she’d gone after his Ma, he imagined what it would be like if she was his older sister. He would have liked that, he thinks, even if she could never be related to someone like him.

“Oh, this is my sister, Queenie,” Tina says, and Credence looks at the other woman.

Queenie steps out from behind Mister Graves and smiles at him.

She’s not as tall as Tina and has lighter hair; Credence thinks she looks just like the ladies on the movie posters he’s seen, although he’s never actually watched one.

“Oh, honey. You’re too sweet,” Queenie says. Her smile has gotten wider and her dimples just make her look more perfect, more like someone who’d be related to Tina.

But why are Tina and Queenie here?

Credence thinks about the last time he was brought here. He doesn’t think Tina or Queenie would do something like that.

“We’re here to help you.” Queenie crouches beside her sister.

He hopes they can. Women know more about pregnancy than men and… and women probably won’t want to touch him the way Mister Graves did last time.

Queenie’s expression goes soft. “No one’s gonna hurt you here, pumpkin. You’re safe.”

Credence isn’t sure what to say to that, but luckily Tina saves him.

“Newt, is there a set of clothes Credence can change into?” she asks. Newt had gotten up without Credence noticing, and looks like he was having a conversation with Mister Graves while Credence talked to Tina and her sister.

Newt shares a look with Mister Graves. “I’m sure we can find something.”

“You wanna take a bath, pumpkin?” Queenie asks him.

Credence flushes. He’s been sitting here in Mister Graves’s house having not bathed in ages. He must smell awful.

Queenie looks distressed. “I… I was just thinkin’ it might help you feel a little better. I always feel better after a bath.”

“What do you say, Credence?” Tina asks.

Credence looks up at Mister Graves.

“You can if you’d like to, Credence,” Mister Graves seems more unsure than Credence has ever seen him.

Well, Ma always said that cleanliness was next to Godliness. He nods at Tina.

Tina and Queenie help him stand up, which is good because a wave of dizziness passes over him. Mister Graves nods towards a door on their left.

The bathroom is probably larger than the room Credence slept in in his Ma’s house, with a white, claw-foot tub that’s nearly the size of a bed.

They sit Credence down on the toilet and he watches them start filling the tub with water.

Queenie steps out a moment later, leaving Credence alone with Tina.

Tina pours some soap flakes into the steaming water and watches the tub fill for a moment.

She turns to Credence. “Do you think you can get your clothes off by yourself?”

He’s not sure.

Tina comes close and crouches down by his side. “It’s alright if you can’t. We don’t mind helping.”

“Please.”

Tina beams at him for that just as Queenie returns.

“Newt had what you wanted, Teen,” she says, tossing a sachet to Tina.

Tina undoes the strings keeping the sachet closed and pours some of the contents into the water, filling the room with the scent of flowers.

“Lavender should help you feel better,” she says, shutting off the water.

Queenie has a stack of towels with her, which she balances on the side of the sink.

Tina runs a hand through the water and shakes the water off of it. “Ready?” she asks.

Credence nods and pulls his arms out of the coat and slides his feet out of his shoes and socks because he can at least do that for himself. Tina has to help him with the buttons of his shirt and slides it off of his shoulders gently.

He blushes again when he remembers that he doesn’t have anything on underneath—his union suit stopped fitting when his belly started filling out—but neither Tina nor Queenie comments on it. 

Queenie helps him stand and Tina kneels to unbutton his pants. He’s had to wear them lower than he’d like ever since he stopped wearing his union suits, so the waistband sits under his belly.

Biting his lip, Credence feels dread building inside him. He knows Tina won’t hurt him, but he doesn’t want her to see him naked.

It’s wrong that he’s a man pregnant through witchcraft, that his child was conceived outside of wedlock, but Tina and Queenie aren’t tainted like he is.

“Here,” Queenie says, and grabs a towel from the stack. She wraps it around his hips to keep him covered so Tina pull off his pants without exposing him completely.

Credence steps out of the legs of his pants and shuffles over to the tub, feeling the cold tiles under his feet. He grips the side of the tub as he steps over the lip and hisses as his toes dip into the water.

“Too hot?” Tina asks.

He shakes his head. “But you didn’t have to waste the warm water on me.”

“It could never be wasted on you.” Tina sounds so firm when she says it that Credence almost wants to believe her.

It’s a little difficult to move over far enough to get his other leg into the tub, but soon he’s able to hold onto Queenie and Tina and sit down in the tub. Once his hips are covered by the bubbles, he pulls the towel out from under himself.

Tina takes the towel from him and wrings it out over the tub before tossing it onto the floor.

“Lean back, pumpkin,” Queenie says, and she pushes on his shoulder until his back touches the edge of the tub. “Just relax, okay?”

Warmth surrounds Credence, but it’s not like the coat he’d found when he was looking for Mister Graves. It makes his muscles feel less tight. The aches in his back ease, and even his mind becomes quiet, no longer telling him that he’s stupid or a sinner or unworthy of the kindness he’s being shown.

Tina dips her hand into the water by Credence’s shoulder and uses it as a cup to pour water into his hair.

When his hair is wet enough that it starts to drip heat onto his shoulders, she starts rubbing soap in as well, taking care not to get any in his eyes.

Meanwhile, Queenie produces a washcloth and starts cleaning off his arms.

Their hands are so gentle that Credence is almost asleep when Tina asks him to sit up so she can rinse out his hair; he doesn’t even flinch when Queenie takes that as an opportunity to clean his back. The washcloth is soft against the old scars there, and none are reopened.

“Think you can do the rest?” Queenie asks when his hair is rinsed.

Credence nods sleepily and takes the washcloth from her. He runs it over his chest and stomach and legs. As always, he closes his eyes when he cleans his… when he cleans the places between his legs. Ma said it was a sin to touch those places unless it was for washing, but Credence never liked to take that risk.

“I’ll see if they’ve got those clothes ready yet,” Queenie says, and leaves again.

He doesn’t hear her return, but he wakes up to fingers running through his hair and the water around him a lot cooler.

“Credence,” he hears a woman say, and he doesn’t quite recognize the voice.

It’s not his Ma—she never says his name like that, like it’s a name she wants to say—but it’s not Chastity either, because Chastity is—

“Wake up, Credence.”

It can’t be an angel either. Why would an angel talk to a corrupted person like him?

He opens his eyes and sees Tina staring back at him. “I’m sorry to wake you,” she smiles ruefully, “but the water’s getting cold.”

She helps him stand, draping a towel over him to keep him covered, and supports him while he steps out of the bath and onto a thick towel on the floor.

Tina pats him down with the towel to dry him off. Credence hasn’t even started to worry about how he’ll get into a pair of pants without her seeing him naked when a pair of soft-looking pants float over to him and hover in the air until he slides his feet into the leg holes. His towel is pulled away and a warm shirt is slid over his arms.

Credence yawns as the shirt buttons slide into the buttonholes without anyone touching them.

He’s led out of the bathroom door, expecting to find Mister Graves waiting for him, but the living room is empty. Tina brings him to another room—not the one where Mister Graves… got him pregnant.

This one is smaller, just big enough for a single bed and a dresser.

The blankets pull back and Tina helps him slide underneath them. Everything around him is softer than anything he’s ever felt.

His eyes are already closed again when Tina pulls the blankets up to his chin.

Credence isn’t sure whether or not he really feels lips press to his forehead or if it’s a dream about his mother—his real mother—but he falls asleep happily for what may be the first time in his life.


	4. Know That I am With You Through it All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from 'Be Not Afraid' by Bob Dufford

Percival looks like he’s ready to fall over when Tina and Queenie bring Credence to the bathroom.

Newt leads him over to a chair and cradles one of Percival’s large, calloused hands between his own thinner ones.

“He thinks it was me, Newt. He thinks I did all those things to him.”

“That’s not your fault, Percival.”

Percival shakes his head. “I should’ve been stronger. If I hadn’t gotten myself captured by Grindelwald, this never would’ve happened to him and—” He stops himself, his eyes squeezed shut.

Newt pulls him into a hug, letting Percival bury his face in his shoulder.

“We don’t even know if he consented, Newt.”

He can’t deny that, but he can stay and hold Percival until the bathroom door opens again.

It’s just Queenie, thank goodness. Newt’s certain Percival needs time before he sees Credence again.

“Hey, Mister Graves,” she says, “you got any towels we can borrow?”

Newt knows she’s reading Percival’s mind, he can see it in how worried she is, but that doesn’t mean he won’t do everything in his power to help Percival.

“Closet’s over there,” Newt says, nodding towards the door.

Percival shifts closer, holding him tighter, while Queenie sorts through the towels. Newt’s pretty sure she’s only grabbing the softest ones.

“Teen wants me to ask if you have any dried lavender,” she says when she’s done sorting through them and putting away the ones she doesn’t want.

“In the kitchen.”

She doesn’t say anything when she comes back from the kitchen with the sachet, but Newt doesn’t miss her concerned glance as she slips back into the bathroom.

 “Come on,” he says, giving Percival a gentle push, “it’s dinnertime.”

Percival looks relieved as they head down into his case to feed the creatures.

In the months they’ve known each other, Newt has learned how much Percival needs to feel useful. He’d memorized the feeding and care plans for all of Newt’s creatures in under a week, and he only recovered enough that he could perform his duties before he returned to work. Newt had tried to help Percival heal from what Grindelwald had done to him, but every moment of idleness was like torture to him, reminding him of the months he’d spent chained up in his own home.

Newt has to pause to give Queenie his spare pajamas, but he trusts Percival to care for the creatures on his own while he retrieves them.

When they finish, the living room is empty and the bathroom is dark.

Percival jumps when the door to the spare room opens.

“He’s asleep,” Tina says, closing the door behind her. “I hope you don’t mind him being there, Mister Graves.”

Percival shakes his head and glances at the door again. “How is he?”

“Scared. But at least he’s sleeping now.” Tina wrings her hands. “You’re not going to throw him out, are you Mister Graves?”

Percival looks horrified at the very thought. “Of course not.”

“I’ll take care of him if you can’t,” she says in spite of his answer. “I can keep him safe.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Percival replies, “and if he’s not comfortable here I won’t stop him from going to you. But I’ll do what I can to support him.”

Newt thinks about how happy they’d both been that morning about having a child together. He doesn’t regret it and has no doubt that Percival will stand by their decision, but the possibility of another child—a child that Percival didn’t even know existed—is daunting.

His own gaze lands on the bedroom door. He doesn’t want to think of Credence as another one of his creatures, but so many of them have undergone similar abuses. How would he help them?

“Tina,” he says, “Can you sleep here tonight? Credence trusts you more than either of us, and he needs to know he’s safe.”

“I don’t mind if Mister Graves doesn’t.”

Newt hadn’t thought of that, and relief glows in him when Percival nods. “You don’t mind the sofa?”

Tina grins. “I think your sofa’s nicer than my bed.”

The kitchen door opens to reveal Queenie. She’s wearing her coat, which means she went out.

“I got some food from the delicatessen you both like,” she says to Newt and Percival.

There are certainly benefits to having a Legilimens around.

Queenie laughs at that thought and holds the door open for them.

They gather around the kitchen table and eat their meal, Newt filling the silence with updates on each creature in his case and talking about his visit to Jacob’s bakery that day.

Percival’s stays quiet, but he’s clearly trying to follow the conversation. Newt notices his eyes going distant a few times, but can hardly fault him for that.

“Tina,” he says when they’ve finished eating, “can you take the day off tomorrow? I think it would be best if you stayed here with Credence.”

Before Tina can answer, Queenie goes pale, her eyes wide, and leaves the room without a word.

They follow her into the living room, but stop when she goes straight for the spare room.

Percival grabs Newt’s hand. He hasn’t entered that room since they found him there, half mad with fear, and Newt knows how much even the door opening scares him.

It takes a few minutes, but Queenie comes back out, closing the door behind her.

“What happened?” Tina asks.

“The poor thing was having a nightmare,” Queenie replies.

Newt doesn’t want to imagine what Credence’s nightmares are about.

“He’s fine now,” she reassures them, “just needed some help.”

Percival doesn’t let go of Newt’s hand. “You take the day off, too,” he says to Queenie. “Go visit that no-maj or something.”

She looks tired underneath the mask of cheer she wears, and Newt feels for her.

“Thank you, Mister Graves. I’ll do that.”

“I need to go home and get something to sleep in,” Tina says.

“Thank you—both of you,” Percival says to the women.

“Any time, Mister Graves,” Queenie says, and disapparates.

Tina follows her, and Newt is left alone with Percival.

“Are you alright?” Newt asks, already knowing the answer.

Percival sighs, his whole body deflating now that he doesn’t have to make a show of perfection for Tina and Queenie.

“I thought we were done finding Grindelwald’s surprises,” he says. “I thought we could…” He shakes his head. “I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought.” His eyes find the door again, and Newt can’t tell if he’s thinking about Credence or the long, long months he spent locked away and alone in there.

Newt pulls him close and kisses him, letting his mouth and hands show Percival how much he loves him, that he’ll never leave him, that he isn’t alone anymore.

Percival is gentle in return, which shows how upset he is.

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” Percival whispers when they come up for air. “What he went through.”

“We’ll be here for him,” Newt says. “We won’t let him down.”

Percival scoffs, pulling just far away enough that Newt mourns his loss. “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t. No one could’ve known about this, Percival. We didn’t even know he had survived, let alone that he was pregnant.”

He takes a step towards Percival, and closes the distance between them when Percival doesn’t stop him.

“I love you, and I know how much you take responsibility for Grindelwald’s actions, but what he did is not your fault.” He tilts Percival’s chin up and kisses him again.

He hears Tina apparating into the room, but doesn’t pull away until she clears her throat awkwardly.

Newt almost feels bad, kissing his lover in front of her, but she looks pleased underneath the discomfort—discomfort which, Newt thinks, is more from watching her boss snogging his lover than anything else.

“I’ll get you some blankets,” he says to her, and gives Percival a playful shove towards the bedroom so he can get changed for bed.

“I’m really happy for you, Newt,” Tina says when he returns with two blankets and a pillow for her.

“Thank you,” he says. “It means a lot to me that you approve.”

She sets the pillow up on one end of the sofa and drapes the blankets across the cushions. “You know the Aurors had a bet going on whether he’d ever actually loosen up enough to date anyone.”

“And what was the prevailing opinion?”

“That he wouldn’t. That he was too interested in his work or too arrogant to find someone he could love.”

Newt wonders how Percival changed while in captivity; the man he knows is nothing like that.

“But I didn’t believe that,” Tina adds. “He’s just cautious. And he’d need someone who was very special to love him.”

He smiles, his face heating. “I suppose I’m… not exactly your average wizard.”

“I don’t think an average wizard would forget to obliviate a no-maj so he could chase a niffler—or befriend a no-maj, for that matter.”

Newt chuckles. “I did say your laws were absurd.”

Tina slides her legs under the blankets. “I think I understand why, now.” She lays down, fluffing the pillow beneath her head.

“Will you be alright?”

“Yes, Newt, I’ll be fine. Now go and take care of Mister Graves.”

Newt hopes Percival realizes how much she cares about him.

Percival is in bed when Newt enters the room, facing the door as always. His right hand is under his pillow, no doubt holding onto his wand.

He’d considered selling his house, after everything that happened, but he’d said it was his home and would always be his home, regardless of what Grindelwald had done. Newt supposes hiding a wand under his pillow is an improvement on the layers and layers of protective wards he’d insisted on in the early days of his recovery.

 Newt changes into his pajamas in the en suite bathroom, his mind on Percival and Credence and how much their lives have changed in a matter of hours.

Percival greets him with a kiss when he gets into bed, the callouses on his hands a rough contrast to the softness of Newt’s tattered Hufflepuff pajamas.

His touches are desperate as he clings to Newt, using his body to beg for the comfort he needs.

Newt holds him, pressing kisses to every inch of Percival that he can reach, until they both fall asleep.


	5. It Is In Pardoning That We Are Pardoned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from Prayer of Saint Francis by Sebastian Temple (by the way, yes, all the songs I have referenced so far for titles are hymns. :p)

Percival wakes up with Newt still curled around him. The room is dark, but that’s not surprising. Getting a full night’s sleep is a distant memory from the days when he hadn’t yet been held hostage in his own home by a man who stole his face.

He sighs, knowing he won’t be getting any more rest, and kisses Newt’s forehead. Newt snuffles a little in his sleep and Percival is able to slide out from under him without waking the younger man. 

Newt moans when Percival returns from his shower to find his clothes.

“Darling, come back to bed.”

Percival leans over the bed to kiss him. Newt throws an arm around his neck and tries to pull him down.

“I can’t,” he says, gently removing Newt’s arm from his shoulders but not moving away. “I have to speak with Madame Picquery.”

“What’s so important that you have to go in before dawn?”

Percival can’t help a fond smile gracing his lips. Newt would sleep until noon if he didn’t have to look after his creatures—he’ll even go back to sleep after feeding them sometimes—but Percival feels the need to _move_ when he wakes up and can usually only fall back asleep if they fuck enough to wear him out.

But with Tina only a few feet away on the sofa and Credence in the house, he isn’t about to ask for that.

“Did you forget about the pregnant Obscurial who tracked us down yesterday?”

Newt stops trying to drag him back to bed.

“I suppose that’s fair,” he says, but kisses Percival again anyway. 

Percival cups his jaw, his fingers just barely touching the ends of Newt’s hair.

He _wants_ to stay, wants to hold Newt in his arms and forget the rest of the world exists, but Credence has to be a priority.

So he pulls away, letting his hand linger on Newt’s warm skin as he stands.

“I love you,” Newt says, and that’s enough to keep Percival there, his hand their one point of contact.

They’ve said it before, but it’s different now, when the world seems to be moving faster and faster with every passing second. Newt is his anchor, keeping him from losing his footing in the maelstrom.

“I love you too.”

He leans back in and places a final, chaste kiss on Newt’s lips before he lets his hand fall away. 

Newt lays back down when Percival forces himself to step away.

Percival pulls on his clothes, smiling as Newt shifts in the bed to find a comfortable spot.

“Eat breakfast before you go to work,” he mumbles into his pillow, his eyes closed.

“Yes, mother,” Percival replies, chuckling. He casts a warming charm on the blankets to keep Newt comfortable in place of his own body heat and leaves the room, listening to Newt humming with pleasure. 

Tina’s snoring on the sofa, one of her feet sticking out from the blankets.

The door to the spare bedroom is closed and he can’t hear any noise, so he doesn’t check on Credence.

Newt probably wouldn’t approve of his breakfast of coffee and toast, but it’s all Percival is interested in at the moment, and the quicker he can speak to Picquery, the better.

He casts a protective spell on the house and apparates to his office.

Usually, Percival walks to work, since apparating still makes a cold sweat break out on his skin. He can remember with perfect clarity when he’d apparated home and found Gellert Grindelwald standing in his living room. He’d been unprepared for a fight and soon found himself chained up in his office.

Newt was the first person he saw after Grindelwald stopped showing up to give him food and taunt him. The days of starvation and thirst and the months of solitude had nearly broken him, and the auburn-haired man had seemed like the savior all the no-maj religions talked about. He would have gladly worshipped at Newt’s feet, but Newt was more interested in nursing him back to health, in caring for Percival the way he cared for his creatures, than being treated like a god. 

The office is quiet, which is hardly surprising, since it’s not even 6 a.m., but Picquery’s even more of a workaholic than Percival. 

Her office is down the hall from his own, and he doesn’t wonder now—just as he’s never wondered in the past—how she didn’t know that Grindelwald was impersonating him, how she didn’t feel his sickening presence every time he entered a room.

Percival makes himself breathe. This won’t help him _or_ Credence. He can’t pick a fight when he needs to ask a favor.

He knocks on the frosted glass.

“Come in!” she calls from inside. Picquery gives him a dazzling smile. “Good morning, Percival.”

“Good morning, Madam President.”

“Have a seat.”

Her office is brighter than his own, with large windows that look like normal glass, but Percival knows a few of the charms that keep her protected. He’s not sure if _anyone_ knows all of the spells in place for her safety.

“I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you, ma’am, but something very important—”

“Don’t be so grim about this, Percival!” Picquery interrupts. “And congratulations. I know you’ll be a wonderful father.”

Percival blinks at her stupidly. “You… You know?”

“Of course I do. You were on cloud nine all day yesterday. The aurors held up to less than a minute of questioning before they broke.”

Is she having him followed? How can he trust his aurors if they’re following him? “They saw Credence?”

Picquery’s eyes narrow. “What does the Obscurial have to do with Mister Scamander being pregnant?”

Percival feels like the floor has dropped out from under him.

How had he forgotten that Newt was pregnant?

“I… I wasn’t actually here to talk about Newt, ma’am.”

Her face loses all mirth. 

Percival forces the words out, trying to speak quickly so he can’t lose his nerve. “Credence Barebone found us yesterday. Grindelwald got him pregnant before his capture and… I think the child is mine.”

Picquery’s eyes get wider and wider as he speaks, and even that speaks volumes about how shocking it all is.

“Where is he now?” she says after a long pause.

“My house.”

“Percival, you don’t know if he’s still under Grindelwald’s control.”

“I do, actually.”

Picquery looks unconvinced.

“I had the Goldsteins help us. The reports said Tina was able to calm him down, that he trusted her. And Queenie would have told us if he was thinking of trying anything.”

“He’s still dangerous, Percival. I know you weren’t present for the damage he did, but he exposed all of the wizarding community to danger. If not for Mister Scamander, it’s likely a war would have started.”

“That wasn’t his fault.”

“I’m not interested in _whose_ _fault_ it was, Percival. What matters is that he’s dangerous.”

Percival opens his mouth and is cut off by her hand raising.

“You didn’t see the damage he did. The reports don’t do it justice. We were honestly lucky he didn’t destroy the entire city.” Her face softens. “I’m saying this because I want your partner and child to be safe.”

“If I turn Credence away—or let you arrest him—my child won’t be safe.”

“And what if that child _isn’t_ yours?”

He thinks about how terrified Credence was of him, how he looked like he expected everyone to harm him for everything he did or said.

“Grindelwald used me to hurt him. I owe this to him.”

Picquery’s jaw clenches.

“At least put him in my custody. I was an Auror and Newt knows more about Obscurials than anyone else on Earth.”

She relents with a sigh. “We’ll have to take precautions.”

Percival feels a weight lift from his shoulders. “Thank you, Madam President.”


	6. You Spread a Table In My Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from 'The King of Love' by Henry W Baker.

Credence wakes up feeling warm and safe, which is so surprising he opens his eyes.

The room looks different than he remembers, now that the sun is pouring in through the curtains. It’s painted in soft greens and blues with sturdy-looking wooden furniture.

He sits up and finds a pair of house shoes on the floor next to the bed. He hesitates, his feet hanging over them.

What if he’s not supposed to wear them? What if they’re there for someone else?

But the shoes are facing outwards, and why else would they be there?

He bites his lip and slips his feet into them. It’s warm in the room, but the shoes fit him comfortably, unlike the shoes he’s worn for the last several years.

Credence stands up and makes the bed, trying to make it look as perfect as everything else in Mister Graves’s house.

The scent of food wafts into the bedroom when he opens the door, and he swallows down the spit that fills his mouth.

It’s probably for Mister Graves—or at least Newt and Tina and Queenie. There’s no point in getting his hopes up when they have every right to throw him out whenever they want.

Tina’s sitting in the living room. She grins, her eyes flicking downwards, when she sees him. “Good morning, Credence.”

He ducks his head. “Good morning.” He can’t hear anyone else in the house, even though the smell of food has only gotten stronger. “Where’s Mister Graves?”

“He had to go to work,” Tina replies. “So did Queenie. But I have the day off and Newt…” she seems to consider her words. “Newt can work from home.”

She stands up, and Credence is shocked by how rumpled she looks. She’s still in pajamas and it doesn’t look like she’s brushed her hair.

“Are you hungry?” she asks, unconcerned by her appearance.

Credence nods. He doesn’t usually eat in the mornings—when he can find food—it usually ends badly when he does, but he can feel the beginning of a cramp in his stomach from the hunger.

He follows Tina through a door and into a kitchen. Half of the room is lined with cabinets, a stove, and a sink, a small dining table is set up in the extra space.

The smell seems to be coming from the oven: a loaf of bread is baking inside it.

Tina pulls her wand out of her pocket and waves it around. Credence watches in amazement as ingredients appear out of the cabinets and icebox and mix themselves together in bowls as they fly across the room.

How can Tina _not_ watch as bacon cooks in midair and batter drips out of the bowl and browns into pancakes? Even the oven door opens and the bread lifts out slice-by-slice.

Plates land on the table just in time to catch the food as it falls.

The door opens behind Credence and Newt walks in.

Unlike Tina, he’s fully dressed in a shirt and waistcoat, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looks… nice.

“Hello, Credence,” he says, crossing to the sink and washing his hands.

“Good morning, Mist—” Credence catches himself just in time. “Newt.”

Newt eyes the slices of bread that are still in the pan. “Is that Jacob’s recipe?”

Tina nods.

He gets that sad look from yesterday. Credence wonders if all baked goods make him sad.

Tina ushers Credence into a chair and sits next to him.

Credence says a Lord’s Prayer and a Hail Mary in thanksgiving. When he looks up, he finds that Tina’s loaded his plate up with food.

“Eat up,” she says, nodding at his plate.

He flounders for a moment, torn between talking back and being rude by getting sick later. “I… This is too much.”

“Credence, I know you aren’t eating enough. It can be dangerous for you and your baby if you don’t.”

Credence bends forward, trying to be respectful. He doesn’t want to disappoint her, but it’s inevitable. He disappoints _everyone_.

“Have you been getting sick, Credence?” Newt asks.

He nods, still looking down.

“I thought so.” He hears Newt shuffling around. A mug floats over to him, the water in it steaming. Newt reaches over and sprinkles something into it. “That should help with the morning sickness.”

“Morning sickness?”

“It’s quite common during pregnancy.”

“It’s not…” Credence wishes the floor would just open up and swallow him so he didn’t seem so stupid to them.

“’Not’?” Tina prompts.

“Not that I’m being punished.”

“Symptoms aren’t a punishment,” Newt says. “And you haven’t done anything worth punishing.”

“I committed a mortal sin,” Credence insists. “I killed my—” The words catch in his throat. How can he just say that he killed his mother and sister while he sits at a table, pregnant with another man’s baby, food laid out before him like he’s a king.

“Your _Obscurus_ killed them,” Newt says when Credence doesn’t speak. “Obscuri are never the fault of their hosts, but of those around them who force them to hide themselves.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

Newt and Tina share a look.

“I did want to explain everything to you today,” Newt says with a sigh. “But I think it had best wait until after breakfast.”

With that, the two of them start eating, leaving Credence feeling a little confused.

“Drink up,” Newt mumbles with his mouth full, nodding at the mug.

Credence lifts up the mug. The liquid inside is purple, but it smells like citrus. He takes a sip, and is surprised when it’s sweet while still having the unmistakable taste of lemon.

His mouth waters as he considers the food on his plate. It all looks so good that he doesn’t even know where to start.

The bread is, at least, familiar, so he starts with that.

It’s soft and warm, which is odd, but he likes the taste.

Tina’s spreading butter on hers, but Credence isn’t sure he’s allowed to do that. It’s good without butter.

All of the food is good, even if Credence only eats half of what’s on his plate. He sits patiently, waiting for them to finish so they can… explain.

Newt finally starts talking again. “How are you feeling now, Credence?”

“Good.” His belly is full, and he doesn’t feel any of the cramping he usually gets before he’s sick, so it’s not a lie.

“I’m glad.” Newt looks down, spreading his hands over his stomach. “I… didn’t get a chance to tell you yesterday that I’m pregnant as well.”

“You are?”

He nods.

“You… don’t look pregnant.”

Newt chuckles. “Well, I’m only two weeks in.”

Credence doesn’t see a ring on Newt’s hand, but maybe wizards don’t wear rings.

“You…” Newt pauses, his brow furrowed. “You aren’t showing as much as I would expect, either.”

He touches his own belly, feeling the swell of it. Is it possible that his baby is… that he’s failed even his own child?

“Your baby’s fine,” Newt says hurriedly. “You’re just small for six months.”

“Six?”

He can feel their eyes on him like rays of the sun.

“There’s no way that Mister Graves could have gotten you pregnant less than six months ago,” Tina says slowly, like she doesn’t think he’ll understand the words.

“I don’t understand,” he admits again.

Both of them are silent for a long moment, each heartbeat brings him more fear. What has he done wrong? What will they do to him?

“The man you knew,” Tina says, “the one who said he’d help you if you did what he wanted…” she pauses again, then takes a breath and visibly steels herself. “That man isn’t the man who lives here.”

“His… brother?” Credence asks. He’s known twins before. There were two boys that came to the church for food who no one could tell apart.

Tina shakes her head and rests her hand on his.

“There was a dark wizard. His name is Grindelwald. He and his followers committed several massacres across Europe and he fled to New York before he could be captured.

“Mister Graves—the _real_ Mister Graves—was held hostage here while Grindelwald impersonated him, fooling everyone and nearly causing a war between wizards and no-majs. He wanted to use the power of an Obscurus to achieve his goals.”

“An-An Obscurus?” Nausea settles in Credence’s stomach like a stone dropping into a pool of water. He turns to Newt. “You said—”

“Yes, Credence. He wanted to use you… and he very nearly succeeded.”

Tina’s hand closes around his. Credence thinks it’s the only thing holding him to the earth.

“We do need to know how… deep your relationship with Mister Graves was.”

“He said—He said he’d make me free. He said I just had to find the child and…” his free hand touches his stomach again, feeling the soft pajamas before his own, firm flesh beneath. “…And let him do this.”

He turns back to Tina. He _knows_ her. If anyone will believe him, it’s her.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I thought he was doing something _good_. I thought I was helping people.”

“I know,” she says, her other hand joining where theirs are entwined so she can cradle his between her palms. “Grindelwald fooled everyone, even our president—even _me_. If anyone should have known he was doing something wrong, it was us.”

Credence can’t bring himself to believe that.

“I’m very sorry,” Newt says, “But I have to ask one more question.”

He nods, unsure of whether his voice will work.

“Did Grindelwald look like Mister Graves when your child was conceived?”

Credence nods again.

He can almost feel his Ma standing behind him with a belt. She taught him what was supposed to happen in these situations, and the thought of it nearly sends him running to the bathroom to throw up in spite of the drink Newt gave him.

“Am I…” his voice catches in his throat. What if they say yes? Credence forces his lungs to fill with air. This is his fault. He has to make it right however he can. “Will I have to marry him now?”

“No,” Tina’s voice is so firm it almost scares him. “You will never have to see him again unless you want to.”

“But the baby. You said it was him and not Mister Graves—” his throat closes again. What if they killed his baby to keep it from turning out like Mister Grindelwald? Or to keep it from being like Credence? He could’ve started a war without even meaning to.

“I don’t think the baby will be Grindelwald’s,” Newt says, interrupting his thoughts. “We suspect he was using a Polyjuice potion, which means the child will be biologically related to whoever Grindelwald had taken the form of: Percival Graves.”

Is that why Mister Graves looked so angry at him? Because he knows he’ll be saddled with a child he never wanted with—someone like Credence?

Credence’s body starts moving without him really meaning to. He stands and his chair scrapes across the floor of the kitchen. He slides all of the uneaten food onto one plate while trying not to think about where he’ll get food for himself and a child (a child that ultimately came from a _murderer_ , he reminds himself). He should’ve eaten everything Tina gave him before but it’s too late now.

He collects the cleared plates and cutlery and brings them to the sink.

He turns on the water and looks around for a sponge so he can start to scrub the plates clean.

“Credence.” Tina’s voice is like a whip—or a belt—cracking in the air. She joins him by the sink. “You don’t have to this. We can do it with magic.”

How else can he make sure they don’t throw him out and let him fend for himself like he deserves?

Tina pulls his hands from the water and makes him turn so she can hug him.

It almost hurts when she touches him because she’s so _kind_.

But he just can’t fight any longer—the fear and pain and horror of it all comes crashing down on him and he loses what little strength he has. His legs give out beneath him but Tina lowers him gently to the floor as he sobs into her shoulder. Each breath sends an ache through the lines his Ma left on his back and shoulders, the marks of his sinfulness he tries to hide. But how can he hide _himself_? How can he hide the child that will only get more and more obvious as it grows within him?

Credence can’t seem to stop crying, even if it’s wrong. It’s his fault and he has no right to cry about it.

He hears Newt standing and curls around his belly.

“Everything’s going to be alright, Credence. We’ll fix this,” he says, and Credence’s heart squeezes in his chest.

They’re going to take the baby. Make it disappear so it can never hurt anyone the way its parents have.

He shoves himself away from Tina, his backside hitting the floor painfully. Neither of them move towards him, which gives him a chance to get to his feet and let them carry him back to the bright room where he’d woken up. He can’t remember closing the door, but he hears it shut behind him.

He can’t run from them. They can find him like Mister Gra—Mister _Grindelwald_ —always could, but he can stay here and pray.

Credence doesn’t have a Rosary, so he counts each prayer on his fingers, letting the repetition of the words calm him and slow his breathing as he sits on the floor next to the bed, feeling the grain of the wood beneath his knees.

He’s still crying when he finishes, so he begins again and again and again until the tears dry up and he feels nothing but hollowness in his chest.

No one has come yet, and Credence fears how long he’ll have to wait for them.

Mister Graves is at work, it’s only right that he should make the decision himself of whether the child should be taken from Credence or destroyed completely… and whether Credence should be destroyed in the process.

A clicking noise pulls him from his frantic thoughts.

Credence opens his eyes and sees what he thinks is the stem of a plant on the floor in front of him, but it moves—making him jump—and clicks quietly.

It has arm-like appendages that it waves at him, still clicking.

They wouldn’t send something like this to kill his baby, would they? It looks harmless as it walks closer, so Credence holds out his hand and the little thing climbs on.

His eyes hurt from crying, but it doesn’t seem any more afraid of him than he is of it, so he lets it crawl up his shoulder and stay there like he’s its perch.

It looks like a plant up close, too, with two big leaves sprouting from its head. Credence runs a finger over one leaf and it chirps in a way that he hopes is happy before hopping down from his shoulder.

Credence watches as it walks towards the bed and waves at him like it wants him to follow.

He gets to his feet, hoping the little creature can show him a way out. It crawls under the door and Credence pulls on the handle, only to find that it was locked.

Wizards must have some way of undoing locks, why didn’t they come in when he was praying? And who locked him in, anyway?

Newt and Tina are in the living room, and look up when he opens the door.

“Pickett!” Newt says, jumping up. “I’m sorry, Credence. I hope he wasn’t bothering you.”

A series of clicks comes from the creature as it walks to Newt. He leans down to let it crawl up his arm to his breast pocket, where it climbs in.

Credence shakes his head. Why would it matter if he was bothered?

The confusion doesn’t stop there. Tina has a few lengths of fabric, and she says they’re to make clothes for _him_.

“I’m sure Newt doesn’t mind you wearing his pajamas, but you can’t leave the house in them.”

“I can wear my old clothes.”

“Your old clothes hardly fit you, Credence,” she says. “It would make Mister Graves look bad if he didn’t give proper clothing to… someone in your condition.”

Someone carrying Mister Graves’s child, she means. He blushes, not wanting to bring shame to the man who he owes so much to.

Tina produces a measuring tape when he nods, and beckons him over.

The tape hovers in the air and wraps around him on its own while Tina writes down the sizes. There are some newspapers on the floor, and he watches chalk as it draws shapes on the paper.

He offers to do the sewing, wanting to show he’s useful for _something_. Relief floods him when he’s given everything he needs to make a pair of trousers. He’s felt wrong with nothing to occupy himself, so he sits on the sofa and gets to work.  


	7. The Faith to Trust in Your Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from 'All Will Be Well' by Steven C Warner, which is based on the writings of Julian of Norwich.

Percival unlocks the front door, feeling the wards he’d placed on the house breaking as he turns his key. No one’s come or gone, and he can’t smell the stink of Grindelwald’s magic, but he doesn’t take his hand off of his wand, doesn’t let his guard down.

He’s grateful to Picquery for letting him go home at lunch. An opportunity to come to grips with everything is welcome, and the walk home had made him feel a little more like himself.

Newt’s voice carries through the door as he opens it, his tone telling Percival that he’s explaining something, no doubt something about one of his creatures.

Credence and Tina are sewing—although Tina looks like she’s mostly using magic—while Newt reads from the manuscript of his book.

Percival sees that, while Credence’s eyes are on his work, he’s listening attentively to everything Newt says. He wonders how often Credence has had to pretend not to listen, not to be interested in what he hears.

Newt looks up at him and pauses. “Welcome home.”

“I brought dinner,” Percival says, holding up two boxes with _Kowalski’s Bakery_ printed on the side in a neat script.

“How is Jacob?” Newt asks.

“He seemed fine. Busy as always.”

Percival knows how much Newt wants Kowalski’s memories to be restored, and he’d do it in a heartbeat if he could.

Credence seems to have picked up his pace, still keeping his eyes on his work.

What’s going on behind those eyes?

Percival decides to get it over with.

“Credence,” he says, and the young man finally looks at him under his lashes. “I had a conversation with the president of MACUSA today, and I’d like to speak to you about it.”

“Yes, Mister Graves.”

“Newt and Tina can stay, if you’d like.”

Credence shakes his head.

“Are you sure?” Tina asks, rubbing a hand over his back. He leans into the touch, but still shakes his head.

Percival considers insisting one of them stays, but he can’t bring himself to patronize Credence like that. He’s spent a lifetime being forced into things—and will spend the rest of his life with a child he probably didn’t even consent to carrying. Percival can’t undo what Grindelwald and Mary Lou Barebone did to him, but he can heed the choices Credence makes now.

Newt takes the boxes from his hands. “We’ll be in the kitchen,” he says.

Percival wants so badly to kiss him, but he doesn’t know how Credence will react to that, whether he’ll think it’s wrong of them or if he’ll believe a place for him will be denied if Percival is in a relationship already.

The kitchen door closes and Credence takes a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I…” Credence speaks slowly, as if every word is weighed before he says it. “I thought you were Mister Grindelwald. I came to you and I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Percival replies.

“But Newt said he hurt you and… and I reminded you of that.”

Percival takes a seat next to him. “What was done to me wasn’t your fault, Credence.”

He resists the urge to rub a hand over Credence’s back, even if it would give him comfort. The way he leans into every touch like it’s the last he’ll ever get, like contact that isn’t painful is alien to him, makes Percival think it would do more harm than good.

“Regardless of whether or not it was me who put you in this condition, it’s probably for the best that you came to us for help.”

Credence’s hands go still over the fabric.

“We’ll do everything we can to keep you and the child safe, Credence. We won’t separate the two of you.”

“But…”

Percival waits for Credence to speak.

“But it’s _your_ child.”

“You have more of a right to call it yours than I do, and if you choose to leave, to find your own way, I won’t stop you.”

Wide brown eyes glance in his direction, but Credence still doesn’t lift his head up enough to make eye contact. “I could go?”

“Yes. I can’t say I would recommend it, and I would ask that you let me give you money for food and shelter, but it’s your choice to make.”

He lets that sink in.

Credence lets go of the needle and cups his belly with a thin hand. “I don’t want to leave.”

Percival smiles. “Then you have a place here. I can support you and the child on my salary, so you won’t have to worry about getting a job.”

“What about Newt?” Credence asks.

“Newt?”

“Well, there’s only one guest bedroom. Where will he sleep?”

“Oh.”

Percival holds back a sigh. Credence was going to find out sooner or later.

“Newt doesn’t sleep in the guest bedroom. He sleeps with me.”

Credence blushes. “He… He said he’s pregnant, too.”

“That child is mine as well, if that’s what you’re aiming for.”

He braces for Credence’s reaction to that. He knows how the no-maj community feels about men being in relationships, but he won’t let anyone hurt Newt, or treat their relationship as wrong just because they both happen to have dicks.

“I don’t understand,” Credence says, staring into his lap.

He goes quiet after that, his fingers moving over the fabric so minutely Percival wonders what was done to him when he fidgeted properly.

“Why—Why would you want me here… when you have someone like him?”

Percival was waiting for him to say he can’t see how two men could love each other, to call them disgusting or whatever other poison his mother made him believe. He’s unprepared for the quiet words, the words that condemn _Credence_ , not Percival and Newt.

What does he expect them to do—rape him in exchange for food and shelter?

He feels sick even thinking about it.

“Because I was used to hurt you.” His arm moves before his mind has settled on whether or not it should do so. Percival rests his hand between Credence’s shoulder blades. Credence’s vertebrae are hard bumps under his palm, hidden under the dark brown silk of Newt’s hippogriff pajamas. “And you’ve been hurt more than enough for one lifetime.”

Credence’s hands are clenched around the fabric, like he’s trying to keep himself from moving. Percival wonders what Grindelwald did to him that his touch affects Credence so much.

He’s not sure if it’s mercy or guilt that makes him take his hand back, but he shoves it into his pocket to grab the bracelet he brought home from work.

“I have something for you,” he says as he pulls it out.

Credence looks stunned by the bracelet, but doesn’t speak or move away.

“The President of MACUSA—the Magical Congress of the United States of America,” he adds, unsure of whether Credence knows what that means, “agreed not to take you into their custody as long as they can keep an eye on your location.” He gives the bracelet to Credence so he can get a better look at it. “I would’ve preferred to give you privacy, but this means we can find you if… if something happens.”

Credence turns the bracelet over in his hands, examining the silver metal.

“This is only a temporary version for until we can get you down to MACUSA in person,” he says. “But if you’d prefer not to have this, we can find another way.”

“This is fine,” Credence replies.

“Are you sure?” Percival asks. “You’re allowed to want something else.”

Credence nods.

Percival doesn’t question him again. He takes Credence’s right hand and slides the bracelet onto his wrist.

He pulls out his wand and taps it against the top, bottom, and sides of the metal.

“ _Conducere sine coda_ ,” Percival says. Lights shine briefly out of each place he touched with his wand. The lights dim, making the bracelet shrink until it’s too small to be removed.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Credence says.

Percival hates how surprised he sounds. “We won’t hurt you,” he repeats, hoping that someday Credence will look like he believes that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse my ridiculous spell-naming methods, which is either translate something into Latin or find a random Latin phrase and say ‘well, that works well enough!’


	8. In The Shadows of the Night, I Will Be Your Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, folks! We’ve reached The Trash! I hope it was worth the wait :p
> 
> This chapter does contain some non-explicit rape. 
> 
> Title comes from You Are Mine by David Haas.

Percival pulls on the cuffs, his arms aching, and stares at the living room through the door of his office.

He’s certain Grindelwald keeps the door open to taunt him. It would be so simple to escape if he could just use his magic, but the cuffs cut it off from him like it never existed in the first place.

Sometimes he isn’t sure if his magic _does_ exist, or if his whole life was a dream, his mind trying to save him from Grindelwald in the only way it can.

He’s so lost in thought he doesn’t hear Grindelwald apparating into the house until he sees… not himself, but it’s almost like looking in a mirror, entering the room.

“Good news, Graves,” he says, “The plan is going perfectly. No one suspects a thing.”

The sound of his own voice is grating. He longs for silence, even if that means his mind going wild with terror—what is Grindelwald doing? How has no one noticed yet? Will he be blamed for this?

Grindelwald comes close enough to touch him. Percival doesn’t move when the chain linking the cuffs together is pulled off of the hook in the wall.

He’s tired of fighting.

Grindelwald kicks him, sending Percival crashing to the floor.

Days or months or years ago, he might have felt exposed, lying naked while a madman stares down at him, not even his magic to keep him safe.

“I think a little celebration is in order, don’t you?”

It’s not his first time being fucked, but it feels like his body’s getting torn apart.

A hand presses to his stomach.

“You’re almost ready,” Grindelwald says.

Percival looks down. His belly bulges out under his—no, _Grindelwald’s_ —hand.

“A few more days and you’ll be a mother.”

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this!

Grindelwald twitches and spurts inside him, flooding him with more of his seed.

He feels the monstrosity inside him thrashing in his guts. Every tearing thrust of Grindelwald’s body sends an answering rupture ablaze in his stomach. It cuts him open from the inside, forcing its way from him.

 A hand touches his shoulder, shaking him, and Percival forces himself to move, to fight.

His wand is in his hand, although he has no idea how it got there.     

“ _Brachiabindo_!”

It’s too dark to see Grindelwald fall, but he hears it underneath his own breathing. He sits for a moment, waiting for the pain in his stomach to return.

“Percival?”

Newt? How did—? But he was never captured, Percival would never have let Grindelwald get his hands on Newt.

He casts Lumos almost without thinking.

Grindelwald isn’t there—he never _was_ —but Newt is curled up on the bed, his arms and legs trapped at his sides.

It takes entirely too long for his brain to catch up with him, to realize what’s just happened.

“ _E-Emancipare_ ,” he says, and Newt’s limbs are released from the spell.

He doesn’t move while Newt sits up, too ashamed of himself to do anything more than watch him. It’s not the first time he’s thought Newt was Grindelwald during a nightmare, but he’s never actually _cast_ anything on Newt before.

“I’m alright,” Newt says. “You didn’t hurt me.”

Percival doesn’t back away as Newt moves closer. He _should_ , but Percival is a selfish bastard, and he can still feel the thing that was ripping him open in his dream.

Newt’s arms settle around him, pulling him into a hug.

“You’re safe,” he whispers, “he’s not here.”

He allows himself to cling, fisting his hands in Newt’s pajamas.

No tears fall—his eyes don’t even water. Any tears he had for this dried up a long time ago, leaving a blistering rage in their wake.

He wants to break Grindelwald the way he was broken, pull him apart into a thousand pieces and curse each shard individually.

Picquery hasn’t allowed him to see the man since he returned to work. She probably knows he’ll kill Grindelwald if he ever sees him again.

Newt pulls away enough to kiss him, and Percival sighs into his lips.

“I could’ve killed you.”

“You didn’t.”

That doesn’t matter. He’d only bound him so he could kill slowly, so he could make him _suffer_.

Newt tilts his chin up, making him look into those blue eyes. “I’m fine. Let’s focus on that instead of whatever you’re thinking.”

Percival tries to push away the thoughts of Grindelwald raping him. It had never actually happened, although Grindelwald certainly threatened it frequently enough.

He kisses Newt again, holding that slim frame to his chest. He can pretend all he wants that he can protect Newt, but they both know it’s a lie. Newt attracts danger like a flower attracts bees, and he couldn’t defend _himself_ from Grindelwald, let alone a partner and child.

“I need to get up,” he says, and lets go.

Newt moves to follow him, but Percival shakes his head.

“Go back to sleep. You’ve hardly gotten any.”

“Neither have you,” Newt protests, although he remains in place.

He drags a hand through his hair, feeling the strands between his fingers. It had grown out so much when he was held captive that sometimes it feels wrong now.

“I love you,” he says, and kneels on the bed to give Newt another lingering kiss.

Newt takes his hand and leads it to his still-flat stomach. The baby’s still too young to have a magical signature, but he presses down, wanting to be as close as possible.

Grindelwald is stronger than him, but that’s no reason to give up on protecting them. He’ll give his dying breath to save them if he has to.

He casts a warming spell on the bedding and leaves before he can get back into bed. One nightmare is enough.

He finds his liquor cabinet in the dark, pours himself some whiskey, and brings his glass and the bottle with him to the sofa.

The first sip burns as it goes down, filling him with heat.

Percival listens to his house shifting and the wind blowing outside, trying not to think about Grindelwald and his threats. They hadn’t asked Credence if he’d consented the night before, although Percival doesn’t think it matters either way.

The skin of this stomach aches a little, and he looks down to find his left hand pressed to the front of his shirt, his fingers digging into his abs.

It had felt so _real_ , Grindelwald raping him, the thing ripping up his insides.

He tries to take another sip and finds his glass empty.

Sighing, Percival lifts up the bottle and rests the neck against his glass. They clink together and Percival watches the whiskey slosh in the bottle as he tips it.

He’s only poured himself a splash when he hears glass shattering and several slams coming from Credence’s room.


	9. You Need Not Fear the Terror of the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from On Eagle's Wings by J. Michael Joncas

He stares down at the bottle, half expecting it to explode in his hand, and waits.

Percival isn’t entirely sure what he’s waiting _for_ , whether it’s for an Obscurus to burst through the wall or Grindelwald himself to appear in his home again, but nothing comes for him.

He puts the bottle down slowly, listening; the house is silent.

Grabbing his wand, Percival stands up and walks toward the door.

A step away from it, his legs refuse to move any further.

He can’t go in there. What if—What if he gets trapped again?

But Credence is in there and he promised to help him.

“Credence?” he calls out. “Are you alright?”

The only response is a high-pitched sound.

That gets his legs moving again. “Credence, I’m coming in,” he says, and takes the final step to the door.

His fingers tremble as he reaches for the knob, his hand freezes just short of the gleaming metal.

He hears it again—that same noise as before—and he squeezes his eyes shut so he can stretch his arm just a little further and turn the doorknob.

It isn’t locked, but the door doesn’t open more than a quarter of an inch before something stops it.

Percival’s fears drain out of him, leaving a single-minded need to protect. It’s been years since he was an Auror, but he remembers the feeling from those days, needing to put aside his own worries to save others.

He slams his shoulder into the door and hears something scrape across the floor as the door opens a little further. Bracing his feet on the floor, he shoves again and whatever is blocking the door moves enough for him to see into the room.

Credence is on the floor, bent to the side like he’s collapsed. He doesn’t react as Percival calls to him again, just lets out another despondent sound a moment later.

Percival shoves the door open with a banishing charm, not caring that it flies off its hinges and pushes whatever was in its way against the opposite wall.

He crouches in front of Credence, cradling his face. “Credence,” he says.

Credence finally looks up, his face wet from tears. A long cut mars his right cheek with dark lines of blood trailing over his skin.

His eyes are wide and shining as he sobs, his hands twisting together.

“Help me,” he whimpers. “Help me.”

Percival runs his thumb over the wound on his cheek, healing it, but he can still smell blood nearby.

He realizes that the darkness of Credence’s hands isn’t shadow, but blood. Shards of glass are half-buried in the skin.

“Help me,” Credence says again, a sob escaping his chest.

Credence doesn’t pull away when Percival holds his wrist in one hand, the other passing over his skin to heal him again. The glass lifts out of his hand as the cuts seal shut without a trace.

Percival takes stock of the room as Credence shakes against him. The furniture is all moved, pushed against the walls. The glass Newt had left on the nightstand for Credence is gone, the likely source of his wounds.

It finally hits him that he’s _in the room where Grindelwald kept him_. Every piece of furniture that had been in the room is long gone, and the holes left by the hooks to which he’d been shackled were repaired and covered in a coat of paint, but it’s still the same room, still the prison where he’d nearly lost his mind.

“Please help me.”

He can’t help Credence when he’s thinking about himself, when he’s trying to remember that Grindelwald isn’t here, that he doesn’t need to cry for Newt to rescue him.

“Please help me.”

Percival would prefer to ask Credence before touching him too much, but he’s clearly too upset to answer questions, so he holds his wand between his teeth—Newt’s clearly been rubbing off on him—and lifts Credence up.

Credence fists a hand in his shirt, curling into Percival as much as he can.

The air seems to thin out with every step towards the door, feeling less like trying to breathe water. The sofa is a refuge, a promised land.

He settles Credence on the sofa, keeping one arm curled around him as he transfigures the bottle of whiskey into a stack of handkerchiefs. He uses the top one to wipe the blood off of Credence’s hands.

Credence shies away from him when Percival tries to clean his face. It’s just a subtle movement, but Percival sees how he tilts his head out of reach.

“It’s alright,” he says. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Brown eyes shine under dark lashes, staring distrustfully at him, but Credence doesn’t move when he touches him again.

The blood cleans more easily from his face than his hands, eased by his still-flowing tears.

Credence breathes unevenly, each sob wracking his body as Percival removes every trace of the cut. He won’t make eye contact, but he leans into every touch before twitching back into place, as if he craves it but thinks it’s wrong.

Percival tosses the handkerchiefs onto the coffee table and gathers Credence into his arms.

The thin body crumples into him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Credence says into his shoulder.

Percival shushes him, his hands rubbing circles into his back.

“You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

He holds Credence until his breathing calms and he begins to list against Percival’s shoulder.

“You should go back to sleep,” Percival says, not expecting an answer. He summons the blankets from Credence’s bedroom and turns, laying down so his head is on the arm of the sofa. He pulls Credence down on top of him and has the blankets settle over them.

Credence’s eyes flutter shut as Percival wraps his arms around him, his hand clutching at Percival’s shirt until he falls into a deep slumber.

Percival runs his hand over Credence’s hair, feeling the softness of it. It’s grown out since Percival first saw him, the longest parts starting to curl slightly.

Credence’s face is relaxed in sleep, making him look almost childlike.

He nuzzles into Percival’s chest, arching his back, and Percival suddenly feels the swell of his belly against his side.

His breath catches with the realization that this is the first time he’s really been close to his child.

Percival looks upward, the ache in his chest trying to coalesce into tears of his own.

Credence didn’t ask for any of this, for a child, for Grindelwald’s attentions, for the Obscurus or the woman who brought it upon him, but he’s _survived_.

The no-majs pray to a god he doesn’t believe in, some heavenly force that creates and destroys on a whim. Percival can’t wrap his head around it, but he prays his child—his _children_ —have even a drop of Credence’s strength and perseverance.

He watches the room grow brighter and brighter, feeling Credence’s breath under his hands.

Eventually, two thumps sound from his own bedroom, heralding Newt rolling out of bed. Percival listens to him walking around in the bedroom.

His eyes are on the door when it opens.

“Good morning, darling—” Newt goes quiet when he sees Percival holding a finger to his lips. He takes in the sight on the sofa, a smile spreading over his lips.

“Nightmare,” Percival whispers.

Newt walks over and leans down to kiss him, one hand cradling his cheek while the other rests on Credence’s back.

“I suppose this means I’m feeding everyone on my own this morning,” Newt says with mock annoyance.

Percival huffs quietly.

Newt sets down his suitcase in the middle of the room and climbs in, giving Percival one last smile before he closes it behind himself.

Credence starts shifting a few minutes later, snuffling against Percival’s shirt.

When his eyes open, he looks around the room before they land on Percival.

A deep blush spreads across his face.

“M-Mister Graves.”

“Good morning, Credence.”

“I’m really sorry, Mister Graves. I didn’t mean to—”

Percival keeps his hands firm on Credence’s back when he tries to get up. “You’re not too warm, are you?”

Credence shakes his head.

“Well, I’m comfortable too, so feel free to stay here.”

He touches Credence’s hair again, and Credence leans into his hand.

Percival knows he can't fix the wrongs that were done to Credence, but maybe—just maybe—he can help him heal from them.


	10. All Things Bright and Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from All Things Bright and Beautiful by Cecil F Alexander

Credence didn’t really mean to fall asleep on Mister Graves, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it.

He breathes in Mister Graves’s scent, so similar to what he’d smelled the one night he spent in this house before with the other Mister Graves, but there’s a musk to it now that reminds him of Newt.

Mister Graves’s hand moves on his back, right to where he tends to get aches now that the baby is growing big enough to show.

He hears a click and looks around for the source of the noise. The suitcase that Newt seems to always have with him is on one side of the room, one latch sitting open.

The second latch opens and the lid of the case lifts up to reveal Newt.

Credence feels his eyes getting wider and wider as Newt rises up like he’s walking up a flight of stairs.

Newt looks over at them, smiling. “Good morning, Credence. Did you sleep well?”

The blush that’s only just started to fade returns in full force. There’s no way Credence can act like he wasn’t sleeping on top of Newt’s lover, but Newt doesn’t look angry at him.

Maybe Newt doesn’t see him as competition. Credence would never try to tear apart his and Mister Graves’s relationship, and it’s not like anyone would choose him over Newt.

He thinks about getting up, but Mister Graves presses his hand against the aching spot in his back again, and Credence is too busy trying not to moan when the pain vanishes to move.

Newt closes the lid of his suitcase behind him, snapping the latches closed, and disappears into the kitchen.

Credence takes that as an opportunity to get off of Mister Graves, moving carefully to avoid any inappropriate touching. Mister Graves doesn’t stop him this time, just sits up once he’s freed.

The kitchen door swings open and Newt returns with a flat basket filled with a variety of apples and a small canvas bag.

“Credence,” he says as he strides towards his suitcase, “do you think you can handle a ladder?”

Credence nods.

Newt’s lips spread into a smile. “Come with me.” He pauses as he unlatches the case. “Darling, can you make breakfast?” he says to Mister Graves.

It’s a little bewildering that Newt calls him that around others, but Credence likes it anyway.

Newt climbs down into the case first, holding the basket and bag in one hand like he’s done it a thousand times before.

Credence hesitates at the edge of the case. He can’t see much other than a ladder inside.

“Here,” Mister Graves says, and takes Credence’s hand. Credence feels his blush return in full force as an arm is wrapped around him.

He gets his left foot onto one of the top rungs of the ladder, still clinging to Mister Graves, then his right.

The lid closes behind him as he moves further and further down, dreading whatever lies at the bottom.

Credence is paying so much attention to the ladder that he steps onto the ground, swinging his foot a little to try and find another rung.

“Now, I must tell you,” Newt says behind him, “that some of the creatures in here are quite dangerous. None of them will hurt you if you’re careful, though.”

Credence turns around and finds himself in a wooden hut. The ladder is still there, disappearing past rows and rows of shelves.

“Creatures?” he asks, his hand traveling protectively to his belly. He doesn’t think Newt would put his child in danger, except he hasn’t spent a lot of time around animals. His Ma never let him near any, and didn’t like it when she found out he sometimes gave his extra food to the stray cats and dogs in the neighborhood. She'd said that him giving his food away meant he was taking too much.

Newt glances at his hand and then looks away, patting down his pockets. He reaches into one and pulls out some coins.

“Take these,” he says, dropping all but one into Credence’s hand. The last one he tosses into the air.

The coin rolls across the floor in a curving line, eventually falling just inside the walls of the hut.

Credence opens his mouth to ask what Newt’s doing, but he’s silenced when Newt holds up a finger, his eyes on the coin.

Two paws appear from the side of the hut and grab the coin. It disappears from sight.

Grinning, Newt reaches over and picks up some of the coins in Credence’s hand. He drops them, letting them chime back into a pile.

A little face peers around the wall, smaller than a cat’s but with a long, pink nose.

“He’ll come more easily if you crouch,” Newt says. “He’s learned that means I’m not trying to catch him.”

Credence bends down and holds out his hand, shaking it so the coins jingle.

The face is followed by a black body as the creature scurries close. It looks at Newt suspiciously, giving him a wide berth, and comes up to Credence.

“Do you eat money?” Credence asks the creature as it sniffs his hand.

“No, he just likes shiny things,” Newt answers.

As if to demonstrate, the creature grabs the coins and stuffs them into a pouch on its belly.

“Nifflers are usually harmless—other than their tendency to steal whatever they like—but this one has a habit of getting himself into more trouble than most, so I keep him in here.”

Credence holds up his fingers for the cre—the _niffler_ to smell the way he used to for the strays he’d feed, and tries not to jump too noticeably when it crawls onto his hand.

Unsure of what to do, he looks up at Newt.

“He likes you,” Newt says, his eyes on the ball of fur that’s climbing its way up Credence’s arm to sit on his shoulder.

The niffler purrs when Credence gives it a cautious pat on the head. He decides he likes the niffler too.

There’s a clicking behind him, and Credence looks up to see Pickett on Newt’s shoulder. He gestures a few times, chittering.

The niffler settles against his neck, purring louder.

“Well, let’s go,” Newt says, grinning at the creatures’ antics. “I’ll introduce you to everyone else.”


	11. All Creatures Great and Small

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I have a rule that I can only post a chapter if I finish a chapter (so I can keep having a buffer) and the chapter I was working on was... misbehaving. Dx
> 
> (There were, however, two prequels posted in the fic series, so make sure to check those out!)
> 
> Once again, title comes from All Things Bright and Beautiful by Cecil F Alexander

Newt leads him through the case, explaining each of the creatures inside or, in the case of the large enclosure that looks like a desert, what creature used to be there.

He likes the creatures, even the ones that Newt tells him to stay away from, and tries to remember everything Newt says about each one.

This, he realizes, is what he expected when Mister Graves—the _other_ Mister Graves—told him he’d be allowed to enter the wizarding world. Not wars or danger, but wonder and beauty.

He wonders what his Ma would think of the case, if she didn’t mind that it was magical and if he hadn’t… if she was still alive.

The mooncalfs remind him of the street animals he would feed, with how excited they are to eat the bubble-like pellets he tosses into the air for them.

“Why do you have so many creatures?” he asks Newt when they pause near what looks like a little mountain with a few holes in it. The niffler hops off of his shoulder and crawls in. He hears the unmistakable sound of coins falling, and looks into a hole to see the niffler arranging the coins like it’s fluffing a pillow.

“I study them, mostly,” Newt replies. “I want to educate people about them so they aren’t seen as dangerous—or more dangerous than non-magical creatures.” He looks around, his eyes sad. “Compared to humans, they’re harmless.”

Credence ducks his head. It’s stupid, but he thinks understands. Animals hurt things because they need to eat or protect themselves, but people… People hurt things for fun, or to get power.

“Oh,” Newt says, although he’s turned away from Credence. “There you are, Dougal.”

There aren’t any creatures around, or so Credence thinks until one appears out of thin air.

Newt offers the basket to the creature, and it searches through before grabbing the reddest apple and disappearing, its location only given away by the fruit floating around.  

After everything else he’s seen, Credence doesn’t even question that.

Newt gets distracted talking to Pickett and the other Bowtruckles. Credence, watching from afar, smiles when Pickett climbs onto Newt’s head instead of the tree.

Something calls out behind him, and Credence turns towards the voice.

He feels it speak again; it doesn’t say his name, but he understands its words. It wants to help.

There’s a barrier between them, blocking it from feeling it, but he finds an opening and steps into the cold.

He can taste it, ash on his tongue, as it swirls in the air, that voice rippling over his skin.

It speaks of safety, of hiding and comfort. He knows it like he knows himself, but he’s never heard it before.

The world is hazy around him, thick like fog as he steps closer. But he doesn’t want the edges of the fog, they’ll find him there. He wants the center, the place where he’ll be invisible. He can be safe in the fog, safe in the darkness.

Wind whips at him, he smells the cold, hears the darkness singing.

A second voice joins the first, this one tasting of warm bread, musk, lemons. It makes him want to hesitate, but how can he run away from the safety of the fog?

He hears a hand wrap around his forearm, pulling him back.

Credence turns and finds Newt there.

“Credence, can you hear me?” he says, his words no longer tasting like anything.

He nods.

Newt’s face has lost the lightness, the openness from before. He looks… mad isn’t really the right word, but there’s an intensity to him that Credence hasn’t seen before.

“Step back,” Newt says, his eyes skipping between Credence’s face and whatever is in front of him.

Credence looks at it and sees his own hand is only an inch from the thing. He can taste it as tendrils of smoke swirl around his fingers.

“It wants to help.”

Newts fingers tighten on his arm. “I can assure you it doesn’t.”

He wars with himself, fighting between the safety of the fog and the memory of what Newt had said before: things here are dangerous.

Credence has known many lies in his life, sometimes it’s felt like life itself was a lie, but Newt hasn’t lied to him yet, hasn’t done anything to harm him.

The first step away from the fog is like walking through syrup, but each step after that gets easier and easier.

When he can turn away from it, Newt’s eyes are worried.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Credence nods, feeling ashamed. He should have listened to Newt from the start and not argued.

“I’m sorry,” Newt says, surprising Credence so much he looks up at him again. “I didn’t know the Obscurus would be able to lure you over like that.”

“That’s…” Credence tries to look around, but Newt places a hand on his cheek and keeps his gaze away from the fog.

“Yes,” Newt answers, the question obvious. “It’s the same as what happened to you.”

He thinks—He thinks he remembers that.

“A girl,” he whispers, not really meaning for the words to reach his lips.

“Yes,” Newt says again. “I told you that before, too.”

Credence doesn’t turn this time, but he can taste it calling, feel the promises of safety.

“What happened to her?”

“She died.”

Those two words speak volumes. Newt has happily explained every creature, every habitat, and even the spells used to create the space within his case for it all in length.

But only two words for what happened to the girl.

He hopes she’s in heaven. No one deserves to be locked away like that.

The Obscurus calls to him again, and Credence squeezes his eyes shut. He wants it _so badly_ but he can’t disobey Newt a second time.

Newt puts a hand on his back. “Come with me.”

Credence doesn’t fight him this time, just lets himself be led to one of the chairs at a small metal table near the Bowtruckles’ tree.

An apple floats onto the table, and Dougal becomes visible again.

Newt smiles down at him before pulling the other chair over so he can face Credence. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

He feels like he doesn’t fit in his body, like his skin is Newt’s suitcase, holding in more than it has any right to. He feels like he could burst open at any moment.

Credence isn’t sure how to put that into words. He knows it doesn’t make any sense.

Newt doesn’t seem to mind that he doesn’t answer, just presses the back of his left hand to Credence’s forehead while the right hand holds his wrist.

“Pulse is alright,” Newt mutters, more to himself than Credence. He pulls a watch from his pocket and glances at it. “I’ll be right back,” he says to Credence. “If you need me, ask Dougal to find me.”

Credence nods, wrapping his arms around himself. The Obscurus continues calling to him until Newt casts some kind of spell on its enclosure.

Dougal sits on the chair where Newt had been sitting, his eyes occasionally flashing blue. Eventually the niffler finds Credence again, scrabbling up the leg of his pajamas and sitting on his lap.

Credence feels raw at the edges, like his skin is missing and nothing is holding him together. Even the tiny weight of the niffler is a comfort, but he closes his eyes and starts praying a rosary, counting the prayers on his fingers again.


	12. Come Out From the Shadows, It's Your Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Difficult chapters keep happening to me, but I promise it'll be worth it!!!!!
> 
> Title comes from Number One by Hazel Fernandes (Wow! It's not a hymn lyric!)

Percival looks at the pile of food on the counter, pleased with himself.

A year ago, he would’ve thought it was ridiculous to make a meal without magic, but that was before he’d spent months in cuffs made from Bloodthirst Stone. After his rescue, he might as well have been a no-maj. Newt had taught him to cook by hand, and Percival found he enjoyed it.

“ _Reducio_ ,” he says, waving his wand over the food; it all shrinks enough to fit on a single plate.

He hears the case open and leans into the living room to see Newt climbing out.

“I’ve just finished cooking,” he says, smiling. “I was about to come down.” He pauses, realizing how haggard Newt looks. “Did something happen?”

“Credence found the Obscurus.”

Percival forces himself to breathe. Newt wouldn’t look this calm if Credence was in trouble.

“He’s fine,” Newt adds. “Just shaken. I thought breakfast might help.”

Nodding, Percival grabs the plate of miniature food.

Climbing the ladder into the case while carrying something has become increasingly easy since he first tried to. He chuckles, remembering how angry he’d been the many, many times he ended up dropping things.

Percival makes his way to the table where they sometimes eat, finding Credence with Dougal and the niffler.

Credence doesn’t lift his head when Percival brings the plate of food over, or when he casts _Engorgio_ on the food to return it to its true size.

“Mister Graves?” he says after Percival has duplicated the unoccupied chair so they all have somewhere to sit.

“Yes?”

“How can you trust me to carry your child?”

The words come out fast, like he’s afraid of both the question and the answer.

“It’s not a matter of trust,” he says. “You’re carrying my child.” Percival sits in the fake chair. “But you’ve survived so much already. I can’t believe that you wouldn’t do everything in your power to keep my child safe.”

“I can’t,” Credence whispers. “I can’t keep anyone safe.”

Percival lets himself touch the younger man. “You can.”

Credence shakes his head.

Newt walks up behind them with a mug, which he places in front of Credence. He pulls an envelope from his pocket. “Darling, this was delivered while I was upstairs.”

Percival takes the letter and opens it while Newt doles out food.

“Picquery wants to know if we can go to MACUSA today,” he says when he’s read it.

He watches Credence whisper a prayer, his hands clasped together.

It’s only been a few days, but he’s already come so far.

Credence drinks the contents of the mug before he starts eating, one hand curled around the niffler to keep it from rolling off of his lap. Percival notices that the niffler is asleep, its head propped up on Credence’s wrist.

“Do you think you can manage that, Credence?”

He looks put on the spot by the question, his brown eyes wide. His free hand leaves the table to wrap around his stomach.

“You’ll be able to see a midwife there,” Percival says. “They can make sure the baby is healthy.”

It’s clearly the right thing to say, because Credence relaxes. “I’d like that,” he says.

“I’ll work on my manuscript while you two are gone,” Newt says around the entire slice of toast he’s shoved into his mouth.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Percival says, giving him a poke in the ribs and trying not to laugh at his betrayed expression when he almost chokes. “’Mister Scamander’s presence would also be preferred,’” he reads from the letter.

Newt swallows his food before speaking this time. “It is not my fault that a murtlap got into the senate room.”

“It is, however, your fault that you chose to give a lecture on murtlaps to the senate after you caught it.”

“I’m a magizoologist. It’s my job to educate people on magical creatures.”

Percival pokes him again. “It was a four hour lecture.”

He suddenly remembers that Credence is watching them, but Percival doesn’t think he’s imagining the smile gracing the young man’s lips as he bites into his own slice of toast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually know if the Bleach reference is the right reference. Feel free to tell me if it isn't :p (Yes, that's why the chapter title isn't a hymn. Yes, it's also because I couldn't think of any appropriate hymns.)


	13. Need a Little Sweetness in My Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooooooo sorry for the delay (again!) It was, for some reason, extremely hard to post this chapter!
> 
> Title comes from Sugar by Maroon 5

Credence pulls out his change of clothes from the dresser.

The fabric still looks freshly pressed from the spell Tina cast on it after they’d finished sewing the night before, which is comforting. Mister Graves had said they’d be meeting with the President, and Credence couldn’t make him look bad in front of someone so important.

He looks at himself in the mirror when he’s dressed. The waistcoat doesn’t do anything to hide the swell of the baby on his thin frame, but at least he can wear the clothes properly, unlike his old ones.

Credence finds Newt in the living room when he’s dressed, holding a pair of shoes.

“I think these will fit you,” he says, smiling.

The shoes are probably more expensive than anything Credence has ever worn, but he has a feeling Newt won’t take that as a reason not to give them to him.

Newt looks pleased when the shoes fit perfectly. It’s a little strange that they don’t pinch or let his feet move around in them, but Credence thinks he can get used to it.

Mister Graves joins them in the living room, looking every bit the man Credence expected him to be. His coat flutters behind him like wings as he strides towards Newt. His eyes travel up and down the other man’s body. “You look very nice, Mister Scamander.”

Credence watches Newt stand up a little straighter. “As do you, Director Graves.”

He looks away when they kiss, feeling like an intruder. Credence is happy that they love each other, but it hurts to know he’ll never have that himself.

Mister Graves turns back to him. He’s carrying something over one arm, but Credence is distracted from that when a tie is pulled out and handed to him.

Credence slips it under his collar and makes the familiar loops to tie it at his throat.

Newt takes the pile from Mister Graves, revealing it to be a dark purple coat.

“ _Tergeo_ ,” he says, pointing his wand at the coat, and the colors brighten a little. “I think this will fit you as well.” Newt holds it up and nods.

Credence slides his arms into the sleeves. Newt lifts it onto his shoulders and pats it down.

“Comfortable?” Newt asks behind him.

“Yes.”

Mister Graves comes up to him just as Credence says the word, his broad hands adjusting his tie.

Credence’s heart pounds in his chest as they touch him. He breathes in the scent of Mister Graves’s cologne and feels Newt’s breath tickling the back of his neck.

He holds very still until they both move away again.

“How does that feel?” Newt asks.

The coat fits well, although Newt’s shoulders are broader than his own.

“I like it.”

“That was my spare,” Newt replies. “But I spilled a bottle of Swooping Evil venom on it and removing the stain changed the color of the coat.”

Credence thinks the deep purple would look nice next to Newt’s fair skin, but he doesn’t say that out loud.

“Ready?” Mister Graves asks, leading them out the door when they both nod.

He pauses outside after he locks up, whispering under his breath. Lights pour of his wand, splashing over the door and covering the house with a faintly shimmering light.

“I do think the coat was an acceptable sacrifice, though,” Newt says. He’s not watching Mister Graves, but looking out towards the road. “Without the venom, Grindelwald’s plan may have worked.”

“How?” Credence asks as they start walking again.

“Several muggles—that’s the proper word for no-majs,” Newt carries on despite Mister Graves’s snort at that, “witnessed the damage done by the Obscurus. I still had Frank, the Thunderbird I rescued, at the time. We used him to dilute the venom enough to make everyone forget. The venom helps with bad memories, you see.”

They continue to chat until the Woolworth Building comes into view.

Credence has never been inside, but he met the other Mister Graves there many times.

He blushes as they join a crowd of people, worried that someone       will notice his pregnancy, but everyone is more interested in their own lives.

The door opens in front of them and he sees the inside, bustling with people.

Mister Graves pushes through the crowd, leaving space behind him for Newt and Credence to follow.

Credence only just hears the doorman greet Mister Graves over the noise before they enter the revolving door. The building shifts as if it’s moving and not them, and they step into the atrium.

It doesn’t look anything like the glimpses he’s seen through the doors. The whole building is decorated in black and gold, with a ceiling so high he can’t even see it.

Voices echo through the building, although there aren’t many people inside.

A shadow passes them, and Credence sees an owl perch on the railing in front of them.

Mister Graves approaches the owl when it hoots at them. He unties something from around its leg and doesn’t react when the owl flaps over to Newt, who already has his arm held out for the owl to land on.

Credence looks around as Mister Graves reads and Newt chatters at the bird. There’s a gigantic portrait of a black woman on one end of the building, and statues stand on pillars, looking down on a group of statues on the ground depicting people with their hands bound.

“Picquery asks that I make sure none of your creatures escape this time,” Mister Graves says to Newt.

Newt rolls his eyes. “Tell that to your Aurors.”

Mister Graves folds up the note. “We have twenty minutes to kill before we can meet with Picquery,” he says.

The owl takes off as Mister Graves starts walking away.

Credence and Newt follow him down a bridge that spans the gap in the center of the room. He can see countless floors beneath them, but Mister Graves brings them down a long hallway past one of the elevators.

Offices line either side of the hallway, but Mister Graves walks to the doorway at the end.

The room he leads them to has one large table in the center, surrounded by groups of two or three desks. The table is empty—except for being covered in papers—but some of the desks are occupied. It reminds him of the Shaw newsroom, although there’s hardly anyone inside.

Two men are bent over a map when they walk in. They look up as Mister Graves opens the door.

“Director! Fancy seeing you here on a Saturday!” one of them says.

“Hi, Mister Scamander!” the other chirps.

Newt smiles at the man, his face not quite comfortable. “Hello, James, Jeff.”

“And who’s this?” a woman says from the other side of the room. Her feet are propped up on the desk, half a donut drops crumbs onto her cardigan. “Another magizoologist?” Credence feels her green eyes on him like a spotlight.

“He’s none of your concern, Smith,” Mister Graves responds.

“Oh, come on, Director!” the woman says.

Mister Graves ignores her, walking to a door at their left.

Newt flags a little when they’re all in the office, the frosted pane of glass the only way to see the people in the other room.

“Is it really necessary for them to call me Mister Scamander?” he says.

“You’re my partner,” Mister Graves replies, sitting at the desk in the room. “It’s appropriate.”

“Theseus would die laughing if he heard.”

 “Theseus?” Credence asks, then ducks his head, blushing.

Newt smiles anyway. “Theseus is my brother. He and Percival met as teenagers, although _we_ met for the first time a few months ago.”

Credence thinks it’s nice that they can be so in love after only a few months, and thinks about saying that, but there’s a commotion in the other room, followed by the door opening.

A woman enters the room—Credence recognizes her from the portrait in the atrium—and Mister Graves jumps to his feet. Even Newt stands a little straighter when her gaze turns to him.

Credence hunches over without really meaning to. The woman is clearly a person of authority, and he’s never done well with people of authority.

“Credence,” Mister Graves says from behind his desk. “May I introduce Madame Seraphina Picquery, President of MACUSA.”

His head pops up, his eyes wide. The _President_? The president is a woman?


	14. All of Your Fears Will Pass Away, Safe in My Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from 'Into the West' by Annie Lennox

Credence seems surprised by Picquery, but takes it in stride the way he’s taken every other surprise so far.

Newt is proud of him for that. He knows about the muggles’ ridiculous racial biases—the only thing more ridiculous than wizards’ obsessions with bloodlines and prejudices against muggles—and even in the wizarding world, women can face difficulty when they want to be treated the same as their male counterparts.

Picquery eyes his suitcase warily, but doesn’t comment.

She holds a hand out towards Credence. “It’s nice to meet you properly, Mister Barebone.”

Credence takes her hand. “Thank you, M-Madame President.”

“Since we’re already here, would you mind if we didn’t hold this meeting in my office?”

Newt sees Percival’s eyes narrow at the question, but none of them argue with it.

Percival vacates his spot for her, stepping around the desk while one of the chairs is duplicated.

Newt ushers Credence into the center chair, sitting on his right.

“Mister Barebone,” Picquery says as Percival takes the duplicate chair, “I feel it’s only right to explain to you how big a risk I’m taking by letting Director Graves have custody of you.”

Credence flinches at that, and Newt can’t stop himself from holding the young man’s hand. He curls further and further in on himself as Picquery speaks, talking about how much danger the wizarding world had been put in by Grindelwald’s machinations and the damage done by the Obscurus.

“What did Grindelwald tell you about his plans for the pregnancy?”

He shakes his head. “Just that I had to do what he wanted if I wanted to be free.”

Picquery doesn’t look satisfied with the answer, but doesn’t push it. “We’ll need to test for the child’s paternity.”

“We already know he was using the polyjuice potion—” Percival says.

“He wasn’t always using it,” Picquery interrupts him. “At the time of his capture, he wasn’t. And I’d rather know now than later if it’s his so we can do what’s necessary.”

Credence wraps his free arm around his belly, his eyes wide.

“A midwife is ready to see him when we’re finished here,” Picquery says, not noticing his distress. “Do you have any questions so far?”

Credence’s mouth opens and shuts a few times before he’s able to speak. “If it’s his…” his eyes squeeze shut. “If it’s Mister Grindelwald’s, what will happen?”

Newt looks up at Picquery, and can see Percival doing the same out of the corner of his eye.

“We’ll deal with that after the paternity tests have been performed,” she replies.

Newt tightens his hand. He won’t let them do anything Credence doesn’t want.

Picquery turns her attention towards him.

“Mister Scamander, I know you’re the world’s foremost authority on Obscurials, which is why I requested your presence. I think we would all agree that it would be best to avoid an incident like what happened in December.”

Credence hunches over further, clearly thinking about what happened with the Obscurus in the case.

“It wouldn’t be difficult,” Newt says, more to him than Picquery. “Obscuri are formed by a repression of one’s magic. All we would need to do is help you learn to use your magic properly.”

“And this would kill the Obscurus?” Picquery asks.

Newt shakes his head. “More that it will weaken it. However, I doubt it will be an immediate change. It takes years for children to learn how to harness their magical powers when they _don’t_ have an Obscurus.”

Picquery doesn’t look pleased by this answer. “Can we imprison it until then?”

“I only know how to contain an Obscurus whose host is dead. Using that method on Credence would be risking him and his child.”

Credence gasps quietly at that, and Newt squeezes his hand.

“I won’t do that to you,” he assures the younger man.

Brown eyes meet his own, and Newt keeps his gaze locked with Credence’s in spite of the discomfort that twists inside him because there’s so much trust there, so much belief that Newt will keep him safe, and Newt won’t undermine that.

“And what if he does lose control?” Picquery asks. “My responsibility is to the protection of our people, Director Graves,” she adds when Percival levels a glare in her direction. “And if we make precautions now, I won’t be forced to put another kill order on him.”

Newt sighs. “Obscuri are formed as a means of self-preservation. They manifest when one feels unsafe, and can be triggered by strong, negative emotions. If he loses control, we only have to help him feel safe and calm, and he’ll be more able to fight it.”

“The reports said Tina was able to calm you down,” Percival says to Credence. “Do you remember that?”

Credence nods.

“I’d like to have a way to monitor that,” Picquery says. “So if something happens to both of you, Goldstein can intervene.”

Newt looks down at the silver band on Credence’s wrist. “I can weave the information into a tracking spell, so we know his location and the state of the Obscurus. Is that alright with you, Credence?”

Credence looks shocked that he’s even being asked, and Newt feels a twinge of guilt for having talked about him like he couldn’t understand.

He bites his lip—probably not realizing how fetching he looks when he does that—and nods.

Pride warms Newt. Credence has every right not to trust people, and yet he remains optimistic, hoping for safety rather than dreading the possibility of danger.

Picquery stands up. “Then I’ll start preparing the tracking spell while you see the midwife,” she says.

Newt gives Credence’s hand another squeeze as she leaves.


	15. Let Me Feel Your Heartbeat Grow Faster, Faster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen
> 
> See end notes for warnings

Credence is almost afraid to let go of Newt’s hand after the President leaves.

He’s never enjoyed being the center of attention, and someone as important as her has better things to do than focus on someone like him.

“We can go to the healers when you’re ready,” Mister Graves says to him, breaking him from his thoughts. “But we can wait here if you need to rest.”

Credence nods.

“I…” Mister Graves pauses.

He looks up, meeting Mister Graves’s eyes. They’re sad, and Credence doesn’t want to know what he could’ve done to make Mister Graves sad.

“I wanted to say, before we knew whether the child is—before we know who the child’s biological parent is,” he amends. “But I won’t leave you to starve if it’s not mine. You have a place in my house, I won’t take that from you.”

That didn’t really make any sense to Credence. Mister Graves had every right to abandon someone carrying the child of a man who’d hurt him as much as Mister Grindelwald had.

There was a knock at the door, and one of the men from the larger room looked in when Mister Graves said he could come in.

“Sir? There’s a healer here. Says you have an appointment.”

“Are you ready?” Mister Graves asks him.

Credence nods again.

Newt releases his hand, although Credence would be happy to keep that contact with him. Of course, Newt wouldn’t want to be seen holding hands with him—what would everyone think of Mister Graves’s partner doing that?

There’s a new woman waiting for them in the other room. She’s small and blonde, and reminds him of Chastity.

“You must be Mister Barebone,” she says to him. “My name is Sarah, and I’ll be treating you during your pregnancy,” she adds when he shakes her slender hand.

“I-It’s nice to meet you,” he responds.

She smiles. “If you’ll just follow me to the maternity clinic.”

Sarah leaves the room and leads them back to the atrium, where they pile into the elevator.

A small man stands inside, wearing a bellboy’s uniform.

“Medical,” Sarah says as the gates of the elevator close behind them.

Newt smiles at the man. “Hello, Red. How are you today?”

“Hoping you don’t bring any mayhem into my elevator,” comes the response as a long stick is pulled and the elevator jerks into motion.

“Don’t worry, Red,” Mister Graves says (Credence thinks Newt might beam a little when Mister Graves says the other man’s name). “Madame President has already warned him.”

Red jerks his chin in Credence’s direction. “Who’s this?”

“Just a friend,” Newt replies as the elevator dings and stops with a groan.

“I’ll find out eventually, you know,” Red calls as they step out of the elevator. “Gossip gets around fast!”

Sarah walks to a large, brightly colored room lined with chairs. There are a few people in the room, a pair of women with two young children, one of them clearly nearing the end of a pregnancy, a woman holding a tiny bundle to her chest, and a man sitting by himself, drumming on his legs anxiously.

She turns to him. “Would you prefer to be examined alone?” she says, her eyes flash towards Mister Graves and Newt.

“Do I have to?” he asks, taking a half-step backwards. He isn’t sure if he can do this by himself.

“Director Graves and Mister Scamander are welcome to be present, but only if you’re comfortable with it.”

Credence looks at them, terrified they’ll refuse.

“Would you like us to come with you?” Newt asks, smiling.

“Please?”

Mister Graves nods, and Sarah leads them through another door and into a hallway, where she enters a room with a ‘C’ on the door.

There’s a bed in the center of the room, which Credence sits on. Mister Graves has Newt sit in the one chair in the room while Sarah moves about the room, retrieving papers and strange-looking instruments.

She pulls a wand from the pocket of her dress and waves it over the paper. Credence watches as his name, age, height, and weight are filled in.

“Do you know when you conceived?” Sarah asks.

He thinks back to the day that he was first brought to Mister Graves’s house, the confusion and pain when Mister Grindelwald forced his way into Credence’s body.

When he came home the next morning, his Ma had… been angry. She’d made him take off his jacket and shirt and had seen the bite marks on his neck and shoulders.

Ma had beaten him until he could hardly breathe past the pain, making him pray rosary after rosary as he bled onto the floor, then made him pray one more as he cleaned up the mess he’d made.

“December first,” he says, not wanting to dwell on those memories any longer.

Sarah gives him an odd look, and waves her wand at him. “Egritudo.”

He recognizes the gold light that surrounds him, but he still gasps when he sees the tiny form of a baby.

“You haven’t miscarried,” she says, her eyebrows wrinkling together. “But baby should be larger than this at six months.”

Credence shakes his head. That’s what Newt said, too, and it still doesn’t make sense. “It hasn’t been six months,” he replies. “It’s only been three.”

“Credence,” Newt says behind him, and there’s something intense in his gaze. “What do you remember of the morning after your mother died?”

Those memories aren’t as clear as the night the baby was conceived.

“It was warm,” he says. “I don’t remember a lot after that.”

“It wasn’t warm that day,” Newt replies. “Or for months after that.” He pauses, thinking. “I looked for you the next day,” he continues. “I saw… I saw a wisp of the Obscurus after you were…” Newt looks away.

Credence thinks about the Obscurus he keeps in his suitcase. It must have hurt, to think he’d failed both Credence and the girl he’d mentioned.

“I can only guess your magic had to restore you, and it… must have taken months.”

“That would certainly explain the growth of the fetus,” Sarah replies. “I would guess you’re about three months along, which matches what you told us.”

Credence touches his belly.

It seems… blasphemous, to have died and been resurrected like Christ, when he’s… himself.

The image of the baby fades away. Sarah looks at Mister Graves. “Are you the presumed father?” she asks.

“Yes. We don’t know whether he—Grindelwald—was transfigured at the time or using Polyjuice.”

Returning her attention to Credence, she says, “Are you comfortable with Director Graves touching you, Mister Barebone?”

Credence blushes, thinking of how he’d woken up in Mister Graves’s arms that morning. “Yes, ma’am.”

He thinks she smiles at that before she turns to the cabinets again. She pulls down a few jars, a mortar and pestle, and a glass bowl. She pours the ingredients into the mortar and grinds them down until she can pour a thick paste into the bowl. Water flows from her wand, mixing with the paste until it turns a milky white.

“Please unbutton your shirt,” she says, waving Mister Graves forward as he does so.

Credence can feel Mister Graves’s warmth against his back.

Sarah positions Mister Graves’s right hand on Credence’s belly, Credence’s left mirrors it.

“Place your free hands in here,” she says, holding up the bowl with one hand.

Credence hopes Mister Graves can’t feel how his heart thuds in his chest when their fingers brush together in the liquid.

“ _Invenio genitor_ ,” Sarah murmurs, tapping her wand against the rim of the bowl.

His fingers tingle like they’re going numb and black and red color pours from them into the bowl; blue and grey spreads from Mister Graves’s hand.

The colors swirl into a dark spiral, although they don’t mix. Stripes of red and grey and blue and black spin and spin and spin until the entire bowl is filled with color.

Sarah waves her wand, and a drop of the liquid splashes out of the bowl. She flicks it and it lands on Credence’s belly.

Credence stares at it as the colors twist for a moment, then turn white again as it drips down to his navel and vanishes.

The liquid in the bowl also turns white, and Sarah nods, pulling it away from them and returns to the cabinets, where she taps her wand against it again and the liquid vanishes.

Mister Graves lingers behind him, his fingers stretching just enough to touch Credence’s.

“Congratulations, Director Graves,” Sarah says when she finally turns. “You’re going to be a father,” her eyes flick towards Newt. “Again.”

Mister Graves steps back, but he rests one of his broad hands on Credence’s shoulder.

Credence feels his heartbeat picking up even more.

The baby is Mister Graves’s. It can’t be all bad, if it’s half his. Not even someone like Credence could corrupt something that’s half Mister Graves.

He can’t quite pull his hand away from his belly, the relief like rain upon a fire or waking from a nightmare and someone caring for him and holding him until he feels safe.

There’s a knock at the door, which pulls him from his thoughts. Sarah answers the door, only opening it enough to peek through it.

“Director Graves,” she says. “Madame Picqurey is requesting your presence.”

Mister Graves goes to the door without a word, but his eyes twitch between Newt and Credence, as if he doesn’t know where to look.

The door closes, and Sarah turns back to Credence, her wand held between her hands and her expression dark.

“Mister Barebone,” she says. “I now must ask if you wish to terminate your pregnancy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does contain a mention of abortion.


	16. Since He is At My Right Hand, I Shall Stand Firm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Center of My Life by Paul Inwood

Credence’s hands find his belly, wrapping around it protectively. He can’t let them hurt the baby. He _can’t_.

Newt’s on his feet.

“Mister Scamander, this is his choice to make. If you attempt to interfere with his decision, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Please don’t make him leave,” Credence says.

“Mister Barebone, if he tries to coerce you—”

“He won’t,” Credence protests, shocking himself with how much he knows Newt wouldn’t force him into anything like this. “And I don’t want to—to—”

The thought of killing the baby—even if it was Mister Grindelwald’s, makes him want to be sick.

“Please don’t make me,” he finally manages to say to her. “I don’t want to kill it.”

“We won’t kill it if that’s the choice you make,” Sarah says, her voice soft. “But it’s your decision and no one else’s.”

“I don’t want to,” he says again, unable to look at her, his arms still wrapped around himself. He jumps when hands touch his shoulders and he’s held in a strong grip. The blue of Newt’s coat fills his vision.

He can hear Newt and Sarah talking, but the words seem to pass through him, falling out of his head before he can get a grip on them. Newt seems angry, his voice deepening until it rumbles from his chest like a lion’s roar.

When the door opens, Newt relaxes his grip a little, and Credence looks up to see that Sarah is gone.

“Are you alright?” Newt asks. One of his hands rubs warmth into Credence’s back.

“They won’t make me kill it, will they?” he asks.

“I won’t let them. And neither will Percival.”

He trusts Newt and Mister Graves. If Newt promises to protect him, Credence knows they will.

He and Newt leave the examination room to find a tall woman waiting for them; she brings them back to Mister Graves’s office. The President isn’t been there, but there are several other people, including the men and woman they’d seen in the office before.

“We’re going to cast this as a group,” Mister Graves says. “This will strengthen the spell and make it more difficult to remove by anyone who isn’t present right now.” He taps the bracelet with his wand, and it grows until Mister Graves can slip it off of his wrist. “It also means we can find you more easily, if you’re lost or… Or if anything else happens.”

A woman steps forward. “Is there anywhere specific you’d prefer to have your tracking mark?” she asks.

Credence shakes his head, still rattled by the conversation with Sarah and Mister Graves’s words. He doesn’t like the thought of the ‘anything else.’

She smiles, her dark eyes kind. “Would you mind if we placed it on your wrist?”

He shakes his head again.

Her smile gets wider, and her deep red lips remind him of rose petals. “Then we’re ready.”

“You first, Corazon,” Mister Graves says to her. Corazon holds up her wand and the others pull theirs out as well.

She draws a small circle in the air, which appears in a black line as if she’d used a pencil, and then a cross inside it, the lines protruding outside of the circle. She doesn’t move her wand from the second line, and waits as each other person draws over the shape in the air.

Corazon nods at Newt after the other men and women have traced it. He walks up, his brow furrowed, and also traces the mark. His is wobblier than the others, and seems to burn in the air. When his wand taps the end of Corazon’s, his mark bends and stretches around the other lines until it lines up flawlessly.

Mister Graves goes last, his wand moving slowly, as if he wants to make sure the drawing is perfect.

Finally, Corazon turns back to Credence, and Mister Graves takes his right hand, holding it palm up, so she can lead the shape down to his skin.

Credence braces himself for pain, but his arm and hand just go numb for a moment when the shape touches him.

“ _Conducere cum coda_ ,” Corazon says, and the mark fades into his skin, going from jet black to a dark blue.

The mark is small—only about an inch from each of the points, but Mister Graves doesn’t release him, just keeps running the pad of his thumb over the lines.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“No,” Credence answers, feeling a little surprised.

“Good,” he says, and lets go of Credence’s hand. “Thank you, everyone,” he says to the others, reaching into his jacket to pull out his wallet. He gives a few bills to Corazon. “Lunch is on me.”

He and Newt usher Credence out of the room to a hail of cheers.

Credence stares down at the mark on his wrist as they walk back down the long hallway to the atrium.

“Picquery spoke to Jonkers,” he half hears Mister Graves say to Newt as they wait for an elevator. “She’s willing to make an exception for him, if it means him having control over the Obscurus. There’s someone in the shop now, so we’ll have some privacy.”

Credence looks up from his hand. “Where are we going?” he asks at last.

Newt grins at him. “We’re going to get you a wand.”

He freezes. It should have been obvious, he supposes, that this would happen, but he never expected he’d actually get a wand.

To think that he, _Credence Barebone_ , is actually joining wizarding society.

The elevator arrives, and they step in. This one is empty, and when Mister Graves presses a button he feels it move sideways instead of up or down.

It opens after about ten seconds, revealing what could be another floor of the building, but the areas that should be offices are all labelled things like _The Dancing Pen_ , _Sphinx Books_ , _Underhill Uniforms_ , and _Cockburn’s Cauldrons_. Mister Graves passes a shop that has _Disrobe_ above its door in a light twisted into a flowing, red script, which has dark curtains in its windows and strange objects on velvet pillows, and goes to the shop next door. The sign proclaims it to be _Jonkers_ , and Mister Graves knocks on the door.

The door swings open, revealing a small shop with shelves holding stacks and stacks of boxes. The shelf on his immediate left is labeled _Acacia_ , and each shelf has a sign proclaiming another kind of tree, all the way down to _Yew_.

“Welcome,” someone says at the back of the shop. Credence looks up to see them sitting behind the counter, carving a design into a thin piece of wood. Their long, black hair hangs down their back, half-obscuring the designs on their crimson shirt. They put down their work and stand, turning the sharp lines of their face towards Credence. “Madame President told me you’d be coming.”

“Good afternoon, Shikoba,” Mister Graves says behind him. “I hope this isn’t an imposition.”

Shikoba smiles. “Not at all, Director.” Their eyes flick between Credence and Newt. “For whom are we finding a wand today?”

Mister Graves gives Credence a gentle shove forwards. “This is Credence Barebone, the young man you were told about.”

Shikoba holds out a hand for him to shake; he feels callouses on their fingers and palm.

Credence wonders what they’ve been told about him, whether they know that he nearly exposed wizardkind, whether they know about his Obscurus.

If Shikoba does know any of that, they don’t mention it. Instead, they look at Newt, their dark eyes narrowing.

“Is that an Ollivander wand, sir?” they ask, staring at the point that’s visible under the hem of his coat.

“Yes, it is,” Newt replies, pulling his wand from its holster so Shikoba can see it better, then holding it out to them.

Shikoba takes it from him, their head tilted as if listening.

“Ash and lime, a bone and shell core,” they comment. “You’re Newton Scamander, aren’t you?”

Nodding, Newt takes his wand back.

“Mister Ollivander told me about you,” Shikoba says as he reholsters his wand.

Credence wonders why they’d know about Newt, and if it has anything to do with the blush that’s appeared on Newt’s cheeks.

Pickett peeks out of Newt’s coat pocket, peering at Shikoba.

“Hello there,” Shikoba says to the bowtruckle. They reach behind the counter and offer him something, which Pickett shies away from.

“Oh,” Newt says as Pickett climbs into his hair, bearing long, sharp fingers. “He’s… He’s sort of chosen me as his tree. I suppose he thinks you’re planning to make a wand out of me if you’re offering him woodlice.”

Shikoba’s eyes go wide at that. “Oh, absolutely not.” They chuckle a little and hold their hand out to Newt so he can give the pill bug to Pickett, who continues to look at Shikoba with suspicion, even as he eats the pill bug.

“Now,” they say, turning back to Credence,” I suppose it’s time for us to find you a wand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shikoba Wolfe does not have a canonical gender, so I've decided not to gender them. I've also done what I can to both acknowledge and be respectful of their Chocktaw heritage. If I have any glaring mistakes in these regards, please let me know, and I'll do what I can to fix it.


	17. Deep in My Bones, Straight From Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE WAND CHAPTERRRRRRRRRRR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Radioactive by Imagine Dragons

Shikoba walks behind the counter and brings out a single box, inside of which is a wand that’s made of a rainbow of woods, each color twisting up its length in a graceful spiral.

“Please try this first,” Shikoba says.

Credence’s hands shake a little as he reaches for the wand. He’s never held one before, except the toy wand that Modesty kept under her bed. He can still hear the crack of his Ma breaking it while she stood at her pulpit, the only light in a world of sinners.

Glancing back at Mister Graves, his fears are met with a smile and a nod. He’s allowed to do this and they won’t punish him for it.

He bites his lip and lets his fingers touch the wand.

Nothing happens as he lifts it from the box, but Shikoba smiles anyway. “Just wave it around a little,” they say. When Credence gives them a confused look, they add, “Like you’re casting a spell.”

Credence draws a few loops in the air, like he’s practicing his penmanship, and jumps when there’s a scraping noise around the room.

“Thank you, that was perfect,” Shikoba says, holding out the box so Credence can replace the wand.

It turns out that the noise was the boxes on several of the shelves shifting forward.

Shikoba leads him to the shelf labeled with _Larch_ and opens a box for him.

“Ten inches,” they say, “and a unicorn hair for the core.”

Credence wonders what that means and touches the wand. He waves this one around, too, but Shikoba shakes their head and takes it back.

“Not quite right,” they murmur, and kneel down to grab another box.

His fingers hardly touch the wand before it’s pulled away from him.

“No, dragon heartstring is all wrong.”

A dusty box is pulled from the bottom of the shelf and handed to him. They make a face when Credence waves it around. “Phoenix is closer than dragon, but not right either,” they mutter.

The fourth box gets closed the moment Credence looks at the wand inside.

Shikoba offers him a fifth instead. “Thunderbird tail feather. Fourteen inches.”

Newt makes a noise behind Credence. He thinks that Mister Graves has poked him in the ribs again.

This one seems wrong, too, as does every other wand on the shelf.

Credence is certain there’s something wrong with him, that he isn’t really magical, that he’s faked it the entire time. Dread gathers inside him like storm clouds as Shikoba leads him to a second shelf, this one labeled _Fir_.

But that shelf, as well as the _Pine_ , _Alder_ , and _Apple_ shelves all prove fruitless, as Shikoba gives him wand after wand to try, and takes each one back afterwards.

“Mister Ollivander would be pleased,” they say as they stare at the shelves. “He likes challenging clients more than I do.”

“I’m sorry,” Credence says. He’s just wasting their time.

Shikoba smiles at him. “It’s the wands. They’re picky.” They look around the room. “Mister Jonker might be able to help. If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll see if I can reach him and ask.”

“Of course,” Mister Graves says before Credence can apologize again. “As long as it isn’t a bother.”

“Not at all.”

“Are you alright?” Newt asks him when Shikoba has disappeared into the back of the shop.

“What if…” Credence feels stupid saying it. “What if I don’t actually have magic? What if I can’t find a wand because I can’t use magic? Or if I’m—I’m broken because of the Obscurus?”

“Difficulty finding a wand isn’t something to be ashamed of,” Newt replies. He huffs quietly. “It took weeks for me to find one that would pick me.”

Credence hopes this doesn’t take weeks.

He steps away from Newt and Mister Graves, walking around the small shop and examining the shelves.

Some of the shelves only have a few boxes, and are covered with dust, others hardly have enough space to fit all the boxes.

Mister Graves seems to be quizzing Newt about something; Newt blushes as he answers. Neither of them notice that Pickett has climbed down from Newt’s head and is walking under the counter.

He considers telling them, but Pickett is already in the back of the shop, and he’s sure Pickett is able to keep himself out of trouble.

Shikoba returns, and Credence is happy that they didn’t catch Pickett—or if they did, that they didn’t get angry at him.

“Mister Jonker has a small supply of other wands,” they say, carrying a larger box under their arm. “I can’t guarantee we’ll find something for you in here, but we’ll keep looking until we do find you something.”

The box only has a few different kinds of wood, each has a stack with only two or three boxes under its label.

He starts at _Birch_ and moves down the box. Each time, Shikoba shakes their head. When he puts back the wand made from Utah Juniper, he deflates a little.

“There are other manufacturers of wands in the Americas,” they say as they close the box back up. “I’m very sorry we weren’t able to help you.”

Credence opens his mouth to tell them that it’s not their fault that he can’t find a wand, but he’s interrupted by a clicking near the counter.

“Pickett!” Newt says, his eyes wide, and they all turn to see the Bowtruckle dragging a wand behind himself.

“I’m so sorry, Shikoba,” Newt says. “He doesn’t usually run off like that.”

“It’s usually his niffler that steals things,” Mister Graves mumbles.

Pickett clicks, holding up the wand.

“No, I can’t sell that,” Shikoba says. “It doesn’t have a core.”

Credence sees a hole at the bottom of the wand when Pickett swings it out of Shikoba’s reach.

The Bowtruckle sticks his tongue out at Shikoba and clicks at Credence, holding the wand up for him again.

“It isn’t going to work,” they say apologetically, “but if he’s so insistent, I suppose you might as well try it.”

Credence bends down as Pickett crosses the distance between himself and the counter.

The wand looks like the first set he tried—the ones made from Larch—with a shining white handle.

Pickett clicks some more and holds it, handle out, to him.

Credence takes the wand from him, and feels the warmth of the handle against his skin, as if it’s been sitting in a patch of sunlight. He waves it in a small arc, and black smoke billows from the tip.

Shikoba jumps. “It’s… It’s chosen you,” they whisper. “But how?”

The smoke swirls in the air, little eddies forming from Credence’s breath, then it pours back into the wand like a river. The wand shakes and darkness spreads over it as if he’s dipped it into tar. Even the polished handle turns black under his fingers.

Credence looks at the others, fear a cold presence at his back. He’s done something wrong, this can’t possibly be what’s supposed to happen.

Shikoba doesn’t look angry, but their eyebrows are furrowed. “You’re the Obscurial, aren’t you?” Credence nods, his hand still clenched around the wand.

Their eyes jump between his face and the wand. “May I have some of your hair?” they ask. “I think I know what to do now.”

Credence looks at Mister Graves and Newt, but they return his gaze expectantly.

He nods.

Shikoba pulls a small pair of scissors from their pocket and steps behind him. He feels their hands at the back of his head as they twist a lock of his hair, then the sound of them cutting it off. They hold their hand out for the wand, and he gives it back.

They disappear behind the counter again.

The whole room seems to hold its breath while Shikoba is gone, except for Pickett, who climbs up Newt’s pant leg and into the breast pocket of his jacket.

Shikoba returns after a few moments. The wand looks the same, but there’s a blood red stone at the end of the handle where the small hole had been.

“Try it again,” they say, holding out the wand.

Credence draws a loop in the air, and black and red sparks shoot from the wand.

Mister Graves smiles and Newt laughs.

“Thirteen inch larch and Obscurial hair,” Shikoba says, their own face bright with pride. “Congratulations, Mister Barebone. The wand has chosen you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HOPE Y'ALL LIKE THIS. I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW MUCH I'VE BEEN DYING TO POST THIS CHAPTER


	18. There's Something Wild About You Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SOOOOOOOOOO sorry for how long this chapter took! My words completely dried up last month and I didn't want to eat through my buffer because I'm afraid of doing that. ^^;;; Thank you all for being so wonderfully patient with me. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from Let's Misbehave by Cole Porter (which always makes me think of Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries)

Percival can’t stop smiling at Credence.

The younger man spends the rest of the day touching the box his wand is packed away into by Shikoba, his eyes wide.

When they return home after a meal at the Hermes Automat (where Credence hardly seems to notice that the staff are dressed in ridiculous Roman god costumes, his attention too focused on the narrow box that sits next to him on the table), Newt makes him take the wand out again to show it off.

Credence opens the box slowly, as if he’s afraid of what he’ll find.

The wand looks like a shadow, nestled on its bed of white silk. The opal at the end sparkles in the light as he lifts it from the box.

Holding it in his right hand, Credence runs the fingers of his left over the wood, and gasps.

The black coloring on the wood moves with his touch, as if he’s disturbed a pool of water—or a cloud of smoke. Even the swirls on the handle shift, and the opal glows, flecks of black in its red face.

Credence’s dark eyes are wide.

Pickett climbs out of Newt’s pocket and watches as Credence touches his wand again. He leaps from Newt’s shoulder onto Credence’s back to get a better view of the wand.

“Thank you,” Credence says, smiling at the Bowtruckle.

After dinner, Percival decides to write to Harriet, his sister in law. As the professor of Transfiguration at Ilvermorny, she’s more qualified than Newt or himself to teach Credence magic.

Percival has never been a very good teacher, lacking the patience to teach by anything other than example. He was chosen to train a probationary Auror once… and was never asked again after Trust got kidnapped by a group of potion smugglers.

Thankfully, Kelsey seemed much happier after his move to a desk job in the Department of Secrecy.

Percival slides the letter into the mail slot for an owl to take in the morning, hearing the ding! of the letter landing in the box to await the arrival of a carrier owl.

Credence is half asleep when he and Newt emerge from the suitcase. He looks at his wand on the coffee table longingly.

“We’ll talk about your magical education in the morning,” Percival says.

Credence nods, and Percival has to stop himself from holding him, or reaching out for their child.

“Sleep well,” he says instead.

Credence wishes them a good night and disappears into his bedroom.

Percival follows Newt back to their own bedroom. He pulls the taller man against his chest after he closes the door. Newt’s hands cover his own where they splay across his belly, where his other child grows. A part of him thrills at the knowledge that their baby will have a sibling, that their family will be even bigger than they planned. 

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” Newt replies, leaning back into Percival.

Nuzzling his lover’s shoulder, Percival closes his eyes. “You…” He doesn’t tighten his arms around Newt, doesn’t want to force an answer from him, but he has to know. “You aren’t mad, are you?” he asks. “That someone else is carrying my child?”

Newt sighs, and Percival feels him shaking his head. “Why would I be upset? It’s not as if you’re responsible for what Grindelwald did.”

He’s had to tell Percival that countless times since his rescue. Even now, Percival feels guilt for the lives that Grindelwald endangered while wearing his face.

Newt turns around in the ring of Percival’s arms. “If anything,” he says, cradling Percival’s face between his hands, “I’m proud. Most people wouldn’t have cared for Credence, or would have made him destroy it.” Leaning down, he presses their lips together.

Percival smiles against his mouth, then lets his hands fall to Newt’s hips so he can grind them against his own, earning himself a gasp. Sinking to his knees, he unbuttons Newt’s trousers and pulls them down to his thighs.

Newt sighs as Percival kisses down his length, his long fingers carding through Percival’s hair.

He’s half-hard before Percival opens his mouth to taste him, the weight of Newt on his tongue accompanied by salt and just a little bitterness. The flesh is hot; he can feel Newt’s pulse through the skin as he swallows him to the hilt, the tip of Newt’s cock just brushing his throat.

Newt’s never been as large as Percival, but one side-effect of the Fetura potion is that he’s even smaller now, sweet and perfect.

Percival pulls off and kisses the shining tip again. “You want me to fuck you?” he asks, and leans back in to press his lips to Newt’s hipbones.

“Yes,” Newt breathes, his dick twitching with want.

Getting to his feet, Percival crushes their bodies together, feeling the dampness from Newt’s cock as it seeps through his own clothing. He walks them towards the bed, his hands pulling away Newt’s clothing layer by layer, until he steps out of his trousers and lies on the bed naked.

His own cock is hard, trapped as it is beneath his clothes. Newt strokes himself as Percival undresses, the sight of his spread legs only making Percival want him more.

Percival has the forethought to cast a muffling charm on the room so Credence won’t be able to hear their activities before he climbs onto the bed.

He starts at Newt’s mouth, covering the other man’s body with his own.

Newt wraps his long limbs around Percival’s chest and hips, grinding their cocks together and tossing his head back when Percival closes his teeth over his pulse point.

Slipping a hand between their torsos, he strokes them together.

Newt growls and lets go of his chest so he can tug on Percival’s hair. “Are you going to fuck me or not?” he asks, his voice deep with arousal.

Percival hums in reply, letting his hand release them so it can slide further down, between Newt’s spread legs. “Are you ready for me, Newt?” he asks, meeting the other man’s blue gaze.

Newt holds it for a moment before looking away, his cheeks going red. He’s not good at eye contact when he isn’t naked and with his cock stabbing another man in the belly.

Percival leans down to kiss his closed eyelids to show he doesn’t mind.

His hand finds the slit between Newt’s thighs and he presses a finger into it, feeling the slickness that’s gathered there. He’s still getting used to Newt having a cunt, but he can’t say he doesn’t love how he can feel Newt’s arousal like that, how Newt’s body readies itself for fucking. He pushes his finger in deeper, to find the new places that drive Newt wild. 

Newt gives his hair another yank. “If you don’t fuck me soon, I’m going to feed you to the Nundu.”

Percival chuckles, his fingers finding the correct spot and making Newt whine. “You said yourself that Nundus don’t like eating humans,” he counters, knowing Newt is in no place to argue further. He takes pity on him, though, and soon pulls his fingers out so he can replace them with his cock (although he doesn’t do this until Newt is grinding against his hand, the roots of his hair dark with sweat.)

 They both groan when Percival fills him, and Newt’s fingernails dig into his shoulders. He’s tight and wet inside.

Percival rolls his hips against Newt’s. They reach out for Newt’s cock at the same time, their interlocked fingers stroking him in time with Percival’s movements.

Newt comes first, his dick spurting stripes over his belly and chest. His pussy undulates around Percival, who reaches orgasm within a half dozen more thrusts.

His cock pulses as he fills Newt with his seed, the seed that has already given them a child. If he were a younger man, that thought alone would be enough to get him going again.

Instead, he extracts himself from Newt’s limp form and shifts down the bed so he can lap up their combined tastes.

Newt sighs happily as Percival’s tongue paints a line from his cunt to his belly to clean him there as well. He spends a long moment afterwards pressing kisses to Newt’s still-flat stomach, and a vestige of his arousal stirs within him at the thought of that skin filled with his child, proof of their love on display for the world.

Newt tugs on his hand until Percival lies beside him, and pulls him into another kiss. He moans at the taste of them in Percival’s mouth, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Percival pulls him close and waves his hand at the lamp to turn it off, then settles onto the bed for a well-deserved rest.


	19. Can You Feel My Love Heat?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a plot heavy and hard *waggles eyebrows* to get through chapter. ;)

There’s actually some sunlight leaking through the curtains when Percival wakes up with Newt snoring into his shoulder.

He presses a kiss to Newt’s warm cheek, smiling as the younger man stirs in his arms.

“I should let you fuck me into the mattress more often,” he sighs, his eyes still closed. “If it gets you to sleep through the night.”

“This is hardly ‘through the night,’” Percival retorts, and kisses him again.

“The sun is up. That makes it not night.”

“You have such a way with words, darling.”

Newt rolls on top of him, straddling Percival’s hips. He grinds into Percival once, his cheeks pink. “You wake me up early and then tease me.” He frowns theatrically.

Percival chuckles, pulling him in so he can kiss the tip of Newt’s nose. “I love you.” He moves to Newt’s cheeks again and kisses his freckles. Percival tries to kiss all of them, but Newt is laughing too hard for him to get very far.

“What are you doing?” he asks, smiling far too much to be stern.

Percival runs his fingers through Newt’s hair, feeling the soft locks as it runs over his skin.

“Admiring you,” he answers truthfully.

The blush that dusts Newt’s cheeks just makes him want to kiss him more.

“What’s there to admire?”

“What isn’t?” Percival pulls him down again and gives in to his urges, their lips meeting like a wave on a beach, gentle and sweet but never quite able to part.

Newt curls forward to cup Percival’s cheeks in his hands, keeping him trapped under him, but it’s exactly where Percival wants to be, tasting Newt’s lips and breathing the same air as him, their own bodies the only thing keeping them separate.

Percival decides that’s too far for him. He rolls them over, Newt’s legs staying locked around his hips even when he’s on his back, and Percival pries them off—he has to move if he wants to be closer.

He starts at Newt’s nipples, drawing each one into his mouth and sucking them into soft peaks as Newt writhes beneath him. Percival wonders if Newt will develop breasts when he starts lactating. He imagines his mouth being filled with Newt’s warm, sweet milk and has to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock before he comes from the very thought.

Percival forces himself further down, kissing over the impressions of Newt’s ribs under his muscles. There are scars on his chest, marks from creatures and humans alike. There’s a bite mark that nearly spans the width of him, with large pink scars. Percival once asked if that was from the nundu, but Newt replied that Fluffy had never hurt him.

He kisses each scar, each scratch and healed puncture. There are a few old burns that look like fireworks on Newt’s skin, and Percival knows he has their matches. Grindelwald used some of the same curses on them and, while Percival hates that Grindelwald wore his face at the time, the marks connect them in a perverse way.

He nuzzles his cheek against Newt’s belly, doing his best to mind his stubble and not scratch the soft skin.

With his tongue, Percival traces lines radiating out from his navel like rays of the sun or marks on a compass. He pauses after the Northern mark to crawl up and press their lips together. It’s appropriate, he thinks, since Newt is his North, the one who brings him home, the one who saved him when he was lost, the one towards whom he is drawn.

He rests one hand on Newt’s stomach. He’ll have two Norths, now—maybe even more, with Credence and the child he carries.

“Have you thought about names?” he asks, looking up at Newt.

“It’s a little early for that, isn’t it?” Newt laughs.

Percival kisses him again to taste his laughter. “Mother had apparently decided my name within a week of conceiving.”

Newt laughs again, and his hand joins Percival’s above where the baby grows inside him. “Mum was convinced she’d have a girl after Theseus, all the way until I was born. But she was so set on ‘Artemis’ that I got it as a middle name.”

Percival remembers Newt’s mother fondly, just as he remembers his brief visit during his childhood. The Scamanders were always what he thought a family ought to be: loving and kind and supportive. Percival had done what he could to be those things for his siblings, but his parents had never done so for him.

He wonders if he and Newt would have loved each other had they met then, and then decides it doesn’t matter—they love each other now.

Newt doesn’t let him think any further, pushing him onto his back and straddling him again, this time facing down Percival’s body.

Percival pulls him upwards so he can get his mouth on Newt’s cock, swallowing him down as Newt bends over and does the same to him. His eyes close as he’s bombarded by the feeling of Newt’s tongue painting a stripe up his length while his nose is buried in the scent Newt’s cunt.

Newt’s hair tickles his thighs as he bobs his head, rolling his hips into Percival’s mouth.

Percival spreads his hands over Newt’s ass so he can open him further and lap at his holes. They twitch under his ministrations, and he presses his tongue into his pussy and ass. He can’t reach the places that will really drive Newt mad without using his fingers, but he puts up a valiant effort anyway, suckling on his labia and feeling the firm testes that are contained within them. Never one to be neglectful, Percival moves to the puckered ring of Newt’s asshole. His tongue slides in easily enough, and he moans when Newt takes revenge on him by doing something with his own mouth that nearly gets Percival coming.

Two can play at that game.

Percival traps Newt to his chest with one arm and rubs his opposite index finger over Newt’s ass. It’s wet enough from his tongue to slip the finger in; he feels the vibrations of Newt moaning around his cock.

Too far gone from pleasure to try and counter, Newt rolls his hips, his cock pulsing with release. Percival finally lets himself go as well and spills into Newt’s mouth with a groan.

He drinks down Newt’s come, each drop of bitterness on his tongue a victory.

Percival helps Newt turn around when they’ve both caught their breath and gives him one more kiss so they can taste themselves.

Newt cuddles against his side, one arm thrown over Percival’s chest, and falls asleep.

It’s a good way to start a morning, even if Percival knows he won’t be going anywhere for several hours.


	20. A Beautiful Mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! Another chapter!!! (At least this time the wait was caused by another fic idea eating my brain, and not just writer's block x3)
> 
> This chapter references the events in [Words Left Unsaid and Deeds Left Undone.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10312016)
> 
> Title comes from Sex Hair by Mouserat

Credence leaves his room to find Newt leaving the one he shares with Mister Graves, still in his pajamas. His red hair is sticking up in every direction, which is only made worse when he runs his fingers through it.

Mister Graves follows him out of the bedroom, wearing a crisp white shirt and black trousers. He comes up behind Newt and wraps his arms around him, pressing his lips to the side of his neck and whispering something that Credence can’t hear, but Newt leans back into Mister Graves and tilts his head to bear more skin for kissing.

Their hands are linked over Newt’s belly; Mister Graves’s slip under Newt’s pajama shirt and Newt hums quietly.

Credence feels like an intruder as he watches them, their bodies pressed together as they touch one another.

But he also feels a twinge of guilt-tainted jealousy. Newt’s baby will have two parents who love each other, and as kind as Mister Graves has been, he doesn’t _love_ Credence—certainly not the way that he loves Newt.

It would be wonderful, to have someone he loved holding him like that, kissing him and touching where his baby grows in his belly.

He needs to stop watching, to tear his eyes away from them. Envy is one of the deadly sins—he’s coveting another man’s…

But Newt looks over when Credence tries to escape back into his room.

“Oh, good morning.”

His shirt has ridden up, a line of pale skin exposed between his shirt and pants. Mister Graves’s hands are still underneath. Credence can see his fingers moving under the fabric.

“Good morning,” Credence replies, forcing his eyes towards the floor. Why would anyone want him? What does he have to give?

Mister Graves finally pulls his hands away from Newt, although their bodies remain touching. “Want some breakfast?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

Credence feels an ache in his chest. He’ll never have anything like what Mister Graves and Newt have and he knows it. He should be grateful for what they have given him—clothes, food, a roof over his head—and stop hoping for more.

They all jump when there’s a knock on one of the windows.

Mister Graves had looked like he wanted to kiss Newt some more, but his eyes go wide and intense as he steps away from the other man and pulls out his wand.

“Aestus,” he says, waving his wand in a spiral before flicking it towards the wall.

The entire wall changes color, turning a deep purple.

A ghostly image of the outside glows through the wall, most of it in blue or green, although some places are yellow, too.

There’s a large spot of orange and red, in the shape of a large bird. It moves, pecking at the window as more knocks echo through the room.

Newt has moved to stand between Credence and the window while Mister Graves stares at the wall and the images on it. He raises his wand as the window opens and an owl flaps inside.

Mister Graves relaxes as the owl lands on the windowsill. “Hello, Meretseger,” he says, smiling.

The owl drops an envelope into Mister Graves’s hand and flies back outside.

Mister Graves closes the window and whispers something under his breath. The walls all shine briefly with whatever he’s casting before going back to normal.

“Harriet replied,” he says, tearing open the envelope.

Newt puts away his own wand, although his body never had the tension that Mister Graves’s had when the owl knocked on the window. “I’ll start breakfast,” he says.

Credence follows him into the kitchen to help, but Newt waves his wand and the eggs on the counter fly upwards, cracking on their own and frying before landing on plates. The bread box opens and slices of bread toast on their way to the plates as bacon drifts out of the ice box, also cooking on its way to the table.

Mister Graves walks into the kitchen, his eyes still on the letters.

“Leslie wrote as well,” he says, not even looking down as he picks up a slice of toast and begins eating. “He wants us all to get together, of course.”

“That would be nice,” Newt replies as Credence whispers a prayer. “I’d like to finally meet them.”

“Leslie is my brother,” Mister Graves says when Credence looks down at his food, still a little shocked that he gets to eat so much for breakfast. “He and his wife work at Ilvermorny.”

“What’s Ilvermorny?” Credence asks.

Mister Graves opens his mouth to respond but Newt speaks before he gets a chance.

“Ilvermorny is the second best wizarding school in the world,” he answers cheerily. “A cheap knockoff of the school I attended, honestly.”

“A cheap—” Mister Graves squawks, his eyes wide. (Credence wouldn’t have guessed he could squawk, but there have been surprises around every corner lately.) “Don’t listen to him, Credence. He’s spewing lies.”

Newt hums, taking a bite of some toast. There’s a smile on his face, under the breadcrumbs.

“Ilvermorny,” Mister Graves says firmly, glaring at Newt, “is the only wizarding school in America and the best in the world.” That part is definitely aimed in Newt’s direction. “My brother and sister are both married to professors, and my brother is the bursar. Harriet, my sister in law, is the transfiguration professor. I wrote to her last night to ask if she would be willing to teach you during the summer vacation, and she agreed provided you’re comfortable with it.”

Credence thinks about his wand, which is still in its box on his nightstand. It still feels a little sinful to _have_ a wand; learning magic is yet another step away from the life he’d had before, a step towards joining wizarding society like he’d been promised.

A part of him still can’t believe it, that he’s a wizard.

He realizes that Mister Graves and Newt are looking at him expectantly, and he runs through the conversation in his head again.

“You have a brother and sister?” he asks.

Mister Graves seems surprised by the question, but smiles. “Yes, Rosemary and Leslie.”

He flicks one of his hands and a book floats in from the living room. He snatches it out of the air and opens it up. Flipping through the pages, he places it on the table next to Credence’s plate.

Three people smile up at him from the picture. Credence jumps when they smile wider and wave at him.

“Oh, sorry,” Mister Graves says. “I suppose you’re not used to our photographs yet.”

“Do they always move?” he asks.

Mister Graves nods.

“Our paintings do, too,” Newt says, leaning over to glance at the picture.

Mister Graves looks a little younger in the photograph, the silver in his hair still black. A man and woman stand on either side of them, both with the same dark hair and widow’s peak as Mister Graves.

The woman is short, her raven locks pulled to the nape of her neck. She’s too broad-shouldered and curvy to be fashionable, but she has a nice smile and kind, dark eyes.

The other man looks just like Mister Graves, although he’s taller and more slender. His hair is slicked to the sides, and his expression is more reserved.

The opposite page has a picture with the three of them and two other people fanning out around Mister Graves: a blond man just shorter than Mister Graves and a black woman.

“Stephen, my sister’s husband. They have two children together, Genevieve and Claude.

“And this is Harriet,” Mister Graves says, pointing at the black woman. “She and Leslie have been together since their fourth year at Ilvermorny. She’s far too brilliant for him, but they’re so smitten with each other that not even my parents could tear them apart.”

“Are your parents still alive?” Credence asks, hoping that his child will get to know at least some of its grandparents.

Mister Graves’s face goes dark. “Yes.”

“Will I meet them as well?”

“No.”

He sits back, feeling ashamed. Of course Mister Graves wouldn’t introduce his parents to Credence, not when he didn’t want this child, didn’t even know it existed until a few days ago. Credence looks away from the smiling people in the photographs.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to meet them,” Mister Graves says gently, one of his broad hands resting on Credence’s shoulders. “It’s that they… I know what they would say about you, and you don’t deserve anything like that.”

Credence looked to Newt, confused.

Newt’s eyes are on Mister Graves, but he meets Credence’s gaze after a moment.

“Newt’s met them,” Mister Graves adds. “He knows what I mean.”

“I think it would be best if you didn’t meet them, Credence. After what they said about me…” He trails off, glancing at Mister Graves again.

“You’ll meet my siblings for now,” Mister Graves says, his voice less firm than his expression.

Credence lets go of the protests he wants to make. He would have liked to meet Mister Graves’s parents, but something in Mister Graves’s eyes and the way Newt keeps looking at him reminds him of the way he used to talk about his mother, when he’d suggest to the children he found on the streets to go to the church for food. Some of them were runaways, children who had escaped their own parents, and they would ask if his mother was kind. He could never find it in himself to lie.

Mister Graves reaches over and closes the photo album, the way he seems to want to end the conversation.

“I think…” Credence says, thinking about the smiling people in the photographs, “That I’d like for your sister-in-law to teach me.” Mister Graves wouldn’t let anyone hurt their child, even if it was his own parents, but if he says his siblings and their spouses are nice, Credence trusts him enough to believe him.

“Wonderful.” Mister Graves stands up, smiling, and leaves for the living room, the album in hand.

Newt takes Credence’s hand under the table. “Thank you,” he says, quietly enough that Mister Graves won’t hear.


	21. I Now Can See Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters!? In under a week!!?!??!!??
> 
> Title comes from Tomorrow Will Be Kinder by The Secret Sisters

Percival replaces the album on the shelf, next to the much thinner one filled with pictures from his childhood, and tries to keep his thoughts away from what his parents would say if they found out about Credence.

He can usually make good guesses about their reactions. He’d tried to warn Leslie away from Harriet—at least until they’d left school—for their own good, but the two of them insisted they’d be fine, and they had been for a couple years, but Leslie let his tongue slip during a summer vacation.

Percival can still hear his sobs and how they’d echoed through the house. He’d found his little brother weeping on the floor of his bedroom, his hands dark with the ashes of what had been letters from Harriet.

He’d tried to argue with his mother, to tell her that Harriet was a brilliant student, but that had only resulted in a fresh set of bruises on his back.

It was inappropriate, she’d told him, for a Graves to allow their blood to be mixed with people like that girl. Descendants of the Original Twelve were above her, and Leslie would be soiling all of them if he continued his association with her.

Percival knew half of her problem with Harriet was caused by the color of her skin. No-maj borns had joined several of the families of the Original Twelve and no one had batted an eye. When they did, the couple usually just ran off. The Fischers and the Wilkinsons had both lost children that way. Benevolence Wilkinson had even been welcomed back, after the girl he’d married had died in childbirth. He’d never been quite the same after that, though, and Percival always believed his leaving to fight in the war was more a case of running from his past than wanting to protect people.

He’d gotten to know Ben better during the war, although he can remember being pulled aside during his first week at Ilvermorny and told that they, as descendants of the Twelve, had to set an example for the others, but that Ben would be there if needed. There hadn’t been many opportunities for him to need help his first year (his fighting had reached its peak during his fifth year) but Ben had visited him in the infirmary when he’d broken his arm. Percival had, in turn, visited his grave after the war.

Percival jumps when a sound like glasses clinking together or a breeze through grass floats through the room. He smiles, light and warm, when he realizes it’s Credence laughing.

He finds Credence smiling down at a photograph on the table, and immediately knows which one it is from Newt’s expression. He’s grinning too, his freckles almost hidden by the blush that dusts his cheeks.

Newt and Theseus wave up at him from the picture before Theseus tackles Newt and pulls off his scarf, then holds him at arm’s length, waving the scarf above his head. Newt jumps for it, and gives Theseus a firm poke in the ribs when he can’t reach. Theseus drops the scarf; Newt snatches it out of the air and puts it back on with a smug grin.

It’s one of his favorite pictures of them.

“I always wanted a brother,” Credence says when Percival takes his seat. “I… I loved Chastity and Modesty, but I think it would’ve been nice.”

“They can be a bit overrated,” Newt replies, taking the photo back and slipping it into his pocket. “But I’m sure Theseus will adopt you when he meets you—” He pauses, apprehensive. “If—If you want to meet him, that is.”

Credence looks just as shocked. “Would you want me to meet him?”

“Of course!” He takes Credence’s hand, the half-smile gracing his lips making Percival want to kiss him again. “You’re family now.”

Credence’s brown eyes find Percival, confused and wary.

Percival thinks he can understand some of his fears. His own experience of families, while nowhere near as bad as Credence’s, is hardly a good one. But Percival could never push him away now, even if the child was Grindelwald’s, even if he wasn’t pregnant.

He reaches out and covers Newt’s hand with his own, his fingers brushing Credence’s the way they had during the paternity test. “You’re absolutely a member of the family. Besides, if what I remember about the Scamanders is correct, they’ll take you in whether you like it or not.” Grinning, he adds, “It’s probably where Newt got his penchant for rescuing every animal he sees.”

“I don’t rescue every animal,” Newt objects. “Just the ones in trouble.”

“I’m sure your parents would say the same about inviting every sad child they meet into their home.”

Newt shakes his head, pulling his hand away. “To think I’ve chosen to spend my life with you.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Percival quips, “I can’t think there are many people who would accept a man who perpetually has a bowtruckle in his pocket.”

Pickett, always aware of what’s being said about him, peeks out at that moment and sticks his tongue out at Percival.

Credence laughs again.

It’s a good sound, and a small, insane part of Percival wonders if it tastes as sweet as Newt’s laughter, if his lips are as soft as they look. He grabs his mug of coffee before he can do something regrettable like tuck the young man’s hair behind his ear, and drinks from it.

He listens to Newt’s chatter, trying not to think about Credence or his smile any longer. He’s chosen Newt, and he could never regret loving him, could never leave him or hurt him like that. He lets the bitterness of his coffee wash across his tongue, and wash away the traitorous feelings in his chest.


	22. I Become What I Can't Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from 'Stop and Stare' by OneRepublic

Newt feels the fluttering in himself that he always feels when he knows he’ll be meeting new people. He tries to tell himself that it’s different because they’re Percival’s family—and nothing like his parents—but it doesn’t help.

He’s combing his hair for the third time, trying to get it into something resembling order, when Percival finds him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Who said something was wrong?” Newt asks in lieu of a reply.

Percival grabs his hands, pulling the comb gently away, and wraps his arms around Newt. “You’ll be fine.”

“You know how I am.”

“Yes, I do. You’re kind and loving and brilliant and beautiful.”

Newt scowls at him through the mirror. “You know what I mean.”

“They’ll love you,” Percival says.

Newt bites his lip. His parents had said much the same thing when he’d gone to Hogwarts, that people would like him, but that wasn’t how things had gone at all.

Percival’s arms tighten around him. “Stop worrying so much.”

“Since when were you a legilimens?”

“Since when were you _not_ the man who said that worrying makes you suffer twice?” He nuzzles Newt’s shoulder. One of Percival’s hands falls a little lower, to cup him in his trousers. “Want help calming down?”

“I don’t think there’s time for that,” Newt replies, only a little rueful. He spent years of his life getting through the minefield of _meeting new people_ without blowjobs to alleviate stress.

Percival removes his hand, and buries his face in Newt’s shoulder.

His presence is certainly calming to Newt, even without a blowjob: it’s proof that not everyone finds him annoying.

Newt takes a final look into the mirror and sighs, displeased with what he finds there. Percival’s parents had been no more impressed by his appearance than they had with his interest in creatures.

Stepping out of Percival’s embrace, he leaves the room with the excuse of needing to check on Credence. He knows it’s too late to change anything if Percival’s siblings don’t like him—they’ve already made the decision to have a child together, even if they hadn’t chosen to get married first.

Credence is in the living room, looking just as nervous as Newt feels. His arms are wrapped around his belly like he wants to hide the tiny swell of it.

They both jump when there’s a knock at the door. For the first time in many months, Newt wonders if Percival’s house is _his_ , whether it’s his place to let in visitors. Luckily, Percival does it for them, a smile brightening his face.

Two children wrap themselves around Percival’s legs when the door opens wide enough for them to bound in. Percival bends down to hug them, kissing their brown hair before lifting the younger one, his nephew Claude, and balancing him on a hip.

The children’s parents follow them into the house. Newt grins as Percival hugs his sister and takes his brother in law’s hand.

“Stephen, Rosemary, this is Newt Scamander, my partner.”

Newt shakes their hands, smiling and hoping he looks sincere.

“We’ve heard so much about you,” Rosemary says. There’s a tightness in her eyes that makes him wonder what, exactly, they’ve heard.

“Well done with that potion you used to wipe the no-majs memories,” Stephen’s grip is firm against his own. “I’ve been trying to find out what you used, but there’s some debate over what it was.”

Newt glances at Percival, who nods. It can’t be too dangerous to tell Stephen the truth.

“It’s actually not a potion that I used,” he replies. “I used the venom of the swooping evil, diluted with rain from my—from a thunderbird.”

“That sounds very dangerous,” Rosemary comments, raising an eyebrow.

“There is a… slight risk from them—they eat brains, you see.”

“Brains?” their little girl, Genevieve, asks. Her light eyes are wide with interest, rather than fear.

“Yes.” Newt flicks his hand, letting the cocoon drop from his sleeve, and holds it out for her.

Rosemary pulls Genevieve back before she can touch the cocoon. “And—And who might you be?” she says to Credence, her voice strained.

Percival steps forward, giving Newt a wide-eyed look while Rosemary can’t see his face. “This is Credence. He’s… He’s an Obscurial. I wrote to Harriet so she could help him learn to use his magic.”

“How far along are you?” Rosemary asks, her face softer than it had been when she spoke to Newt.

“Three months,” Credence replies.

“A word of advice,” Rosemary grins, looking mischievous. “Let yourself eat when you want to. With what you’re going to go through, you deserve that, at least.”

Credence blushes, but nods.

There’s a second knock at the door, and Percival lets Harriet and Leslie in, and the introductions happen all over again.

Newt tries to move towards the edge of the room without it being too obvious, watching Percival play with Genevieve and Claude while still talking to his siblings and their spouses. He knows he should join in—even Credence is talking to Harriet, listening intently as she explains the basics of transfiguration to him—but he can’t quite get himself to do it.

Rosemary walks over after a while, when Newt is wondering if he can excuse himself with the reasoning of needing to feed the mooncalves.

“I hope you don’t intend on abandoning my brother,” she says quietly.

“Of course not,” Newt replies.

Her frown is stern—the kind of expression she undoubtedly uses on her children—but she relents after a moment. “He’s never had anyone to care for him, not even as a child. Mother and father… they didn’t believe in giving that to us.”

“I think he’ll be an excellent father.”

“I know he will. I’d say Percival was more of a parent to me than either of them.”

Newt watches as Percival calms Claude and Genevieve down from a looming fight before either of them can start screaming or crying.

“I’m very good at hexes, you know,” Rosemary says, conversational, but menacing. “So—”

“—If I break his heart, you’ll swap out my orifices and put my genitals on my forehead?”

“You’ve gotten the shovel talk before?” she asks.

Newt laughs. “No. My brother did, though. He didn’t take it seriously the first time and I had to help un-hex him. Theseus was… more careful to end his relationships amicably after that.”

Rosemary smiles at him. “Just be good to him. He’s… He’s had enough pain for one lifetime.”

“I promise I’ll do everything I can to make him happy.”

Newt watches Percival’s dark eyes search the room for him. He smiles when he finds Newt, and Newt can’t hold back a smile of his own.

Rosemary shakes her head, then laughs when Pickett looks out of Newt’s pocket.

“You seem to have something growing from your jacket.”

Newt lets Pickett climb onto his hand and holds him out for her to see. Pickett jumps onto her shoulder, where he pokes at the silk flowers on her hat, cocking his head in confusion.

“I’ve never seen a Bowtruckle before,” she says, grinning. “But I think I like him more than that swooping evil you were talking about.”

Rosemary doesn’t seem to mind when Newt goes on a brief lecture about Bowtruckles, but Percival catches his eye halfway through, mouthing the words ‘I told you so.’


	23. Just How Capable I Am To Pull Through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up for another ROLLER COASTER OF A CHAPTER (not)
> 
> Title comes from 'Fighter' by Christina Aguilera

Credence decides he likes Mister Graves’s family.

Mrs. Graves doesn’t think he’s stupid for not knowing what transfiguration—or any of the other magical terms she uses—is, and kindly explains each one to him.

She also pulls what he thinks is a small jewelry box from her pocket, but when she taps her wand on it, it grows and grows.

Mrs. Graves opens the box to reveal a stack of books.

“These are standard reading for first years,” she explains. “I feel it’s best for you to start there and work your way up.” She pulls out a tome, which cracks as she opens it. “I’m certain Percival will find somewhere for you to store these.”

“These are… for me?” he asks. The books look new, and there are nearly a dozen in the box.

“Of course,” Mrs. Graves replies.

He looks at Mister Graves, who smiles. “She’s the teacher,” he says. “If she says those are the correct books for you, those are the books you’ll be using.”

“But,” Credence blushes, ashamed. “I can’t pay for them.” He can’t imagine trying to get a job, not when his pregnancy is starting to show.

Mister Graves opens his mouth, but Mrs. Graves is already speaking.

“You are the father of my niece or nephew. Did you think I was going to make you pay for a gift?” She hands the book to him.

“Harriet’s right,” Mister Graves says. “You’re a part of the family now. You don’t have to pay us back for anything.”

Credence looks down at the book. _The American Encyclopedia of Spells, 12th Edition_   is printed on the green leather cover in a shining silver ink. A wand waves around under the title, occasionally tapping a hat, which turns into a bouquet of flowers, and then back to a hat, and then a kettle, and back to a hat again.

“Twelfth edition already?” Mister Graves asks, looking over Credence’s shoulder at the book. “I used the fifth edition.”

“Jordanes insists it’s necessary,” Mrs. Graves replies. “I don’t see what’s so necessary about adding three spells just to print new versions.”

Mister Graves places a warm hand on Credence’s back. “Let’s see what other books you have.”

Newt and Mrs. Roche come over at the mention of books, and Credence notices Pickett hiding among the flowers on her cloche hat.

“Are students educated on magical creatures at Ilvermorny?” Newt asks.

“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Graves answers.

“It really is quite a fascinating subject,” he says. “It really would benefit everyone if we learned to understand them rather than killing them.”

Newt has the air of someone who’s had the same conversation many times before, although he relaxes when Mrs. Graves nods.

“While I would worry about exploitation, I do think that the pursuit of knowledge—with, of course, necessary laws in place—is very important.”

“You don’t teach about creatures?” Credence asks, and immediately feels his cheeks redden for interrupting.

Newt smiles kindly at him. “Most wizards don’t share my views on magical creatures. They’re often destroyed to help wizards avoid detection or because they’re believed to be too dangerous.”

Credence thinks about how Newt keeps his creatures hidden in his suitcase. The thought of them being killed like that makes him feel sick.

“That’s why I’m writing my book,” Newt says when he sees Credence’s expression. “I want to spread understanding to protect creatures from humans.”

That calms him. Credence promises himself he’ll make sure _his baby_ doesn’t see creatures as something dangerous to be killed.

He imagines a tiny, dark haired child playing with the niffler or Pickett.

Credence realizes it’s the first time he’s imagined his child, thought about what it will look like. He hasn’t even thought about if it’ll be a boy or a girl, or what he’ll name it. Mister Graves should probably do that—find a name that will do his family proud.

He continues to dig through the box, reading over the titles of each book as the conversation picks up around him again. Mister Graves offers everyone some lunch, and disappears for several minutes.

“What do you think?” Newt asks, bending down beside Credence as the others chatter.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Credence replies quietly, not wanting to seem ungrateful for Mrs. Graves’s gift.

“It can be overwhelming at first.”

“You said it would help destroy the Obscurus if I learned to control my magic,” Credence says. “But what if I can’t?”

“Even that was a theory,” Newt answers. “I’m afraid very little research has been done on Obscuri, and being that you’re so much older than any other recorded survivor, I can’t promise anything.”

Credence’s shoulders fall.

“But,” Newt continues, “you survived as long as you did, and survived so much. If there’s anyone I’d have faith in to break all the rules of what we know, it would be you.” He presses a cool hand between Credence’s shoulder blades.

“Do you mean it?” Credence asks. It feels silly to need the reassurance, but he can’t help asking.

Newt smiles. “I do. Even when I first saw you, I knew you could do so much.”

“I don’t remember.”

“I could show you, if you’d like.”

“Show me?”

Newt’s answer is interrupted by Mister Graves returning.

They all pile into the dining room for lunch. In the short time, Mister Graves has prepared a whole meal of potato and liver pie, muffins, baked apples, and tea.

Mister Graves sits at the head of the table on Credence’s left.

Mrs. Roche is on his right, and she questions him gently on his pregnancy. She seems content that Mister Graves and Newt are taking care of him (especially when he mentions meeting with a midwife).

“I’m happy to answer any questions you have,” she says. “It helps to have someone around who’s been there. Stephen’s sisters were a lifeline for me. Without them, I would have been stuck asking Mother for help.”

“Did she not want to help you?” he asks.

Mrs. Roche glances at Mister Graves, who is talking to her husband and daughter about Ilvermorny. Genevieve seems excited by the conversation.

“None of us get along with our parents,” she answers. “They failed all of us, but Percival especially, since he didn’t have anyone to keep an eye on him.” A smile brightens her features. “But he has Newt now, and you.”

Credence blushes. “It’s not like that between us, ma’am. Not like what Mister Graves has with Newt—”

“I know,” she replies. “But you’ll care for him no matter what, and he needs that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References for this chapter:  
> Seating arrangement:  
> https://www.etiquettescholar.com/dining_etiquette/table_manners/seating_etiquette.html  
> The choice of food was taken from page 34 of Breakfasts, Luncheons and Dinners, How to Plan Them, How to Serve Them, How to Behave at Them: A Book for School and Home by Mary D Chambers:  
> http://hearth.library.cornell.edu/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=hearth;cc=hearth;idno=4388610;node=4388610%3A7;frm=frameset;view=toc


	24. A Shooting Star Leaping Through The Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Don't Stop Me Now by Queen

Once lunch is finished, Mrs. Graves and Credence go back to the living room while everyone else stays to chat in the dining room.

“I know magic can seem intimidating,” she says as they sit down, “but once you become more comfortable with it, it gets better.”

Credence’s wand is heavy on his lap. He can’t imagine it ever being easy.

“A lot of spell casting is based on visualization,” Mrs. Graves says. “And learning to build a strong image in your mind can make a difference in whether or not a spell is successful.” She smiles. “So, if you can imagine it, it’s likely you can create it with your magic.”

After opening _The American Encyclopedia of Spells_ to a page near the front, she pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and lays it on the coffee table. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” she says, waving her wand, and the square of fabric begins to float in the air, following the movements of her wand. She holds it up for a moment before allowing it to rest on the table again.

“Diction is very important, as is hand movement.”

Mrs. Graves points to a diagram in the book.

“This is the hand movement necessary for this spell—most spells have specific movements—and you’ll need to do this while visualizing the fabric floating.”

Credence practices the hand movement a few times, then reads over the words again. “ _W-Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” he says, waving his wand.

The handkerchief shivers on the table, but doesn’t move otherwise.

“Try again,” Mrs. Graves says, “and be confident in your words. Visualize yourself succeeding.”

That’s even more intimidating than actually _doing_ magic. Credence isn’t used to success.

Closing his eyes, he imagines himself doing the hand movement, saying the words, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” and the handkerchief lifting off the table.

Credence tries again.

He takes a deep breath and waves his wand again. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

And something stirs inside him. It’s like water shifting in a jar that’s been turned over—not spilling out, but undoubtedly _moving_.

The handkerchief twitches, then lifts off of the table. Credence hardly breathes, just lifts his wand a little higher, and watches as the handkerchief follows it.

Up and up it goes, although it starts to tremble when he brings it more than a foot over the table and he lets it fall until it stops shaking.

Credence holds it there for a moment before lowering his wand and letting it rest on the table again.

“Credence!” he hears, and flinches. He’s been caught doing magic and someone will know and punish him—

But the voice was Newt’s. He and Mister Graves are in the doorway between the living room and the dining room, their faces bright with smiles.

“Well done, Credence,” Mister Graves says.

Credence blushes under their gaze.

“Try again,” Mrs. Graves says, and Credence does as he’s told.

This time, he can only get the handkerchief a few inches above the table and it shakes the entire time, but Mister Graves and Newt look no less pleased with him. They even applaud when the handkerchief lands again.

Credence doesn’t think what he’s done is particularly impressive, although both Newt and Mister Graves say it took them longer to learn. It’s not a fair comparison, since they were both children at the time.

“I think this is a good stopping point for today,” Mrs. Graves says, smiling. She takes in his embarrassed expression, her smile widening. “You’re a natural.”

“I’m not,” Credence objects, his face heating more.

“You are. I’ve taught many students, and it’s rare to see anyone who can actually perform magic on their first try. It takes a great deal of talent and control to do so.”

He feels like a fraud when she says that, but Credence doesn’t argue more.

It’s not until after Mister Graves’s family has left (and Mrs. Graves has arranged to teach him for an hour every afternoon) and they’ve fed the creatures in Newt’s case that Newt finds him sitting near the niffler’s mound of earth.

“What’s wrong?” Newt asks, sitting down next to Credence.

Credence runs his fingers over the niffler’s fur. “Mrs. Graves said that… that magic is done through visualization.”

“Yes?”

He looks out over the interior of Newt’s suitcase, seeing the edges of the mooncalf enclosure and the hill where the nundu is curled up, her paws and whiskers twitching as she sleeps.

“When I was little, sometimes I would… daydream. Ma said it was me opening my mind to the devil, and that I should have used that time to pray, but I couldn’t help it. And sometimes I couldn’t sleep, especially after she would… after she would use my belt on me. So I would imagine things.”

The frozen landscape where he found the Obscurus is blocked off. He can’t hear it calling to him.

“I would imagine safety, and somewhere that I wasn’t… punished. Something that could protect me.” He looks over at Newt. “I created my Obscurus, didn’t I?”

Newt frowns. “I can’t say with any certainty. Like I said, there’s been little research done. But it’s possible. Children are known to subconsciously perform magic, even when under less stress than you were.”

Credence focuses on the weight of the sleeping niffler on his lap instead of the tears that threaten to fall.

“It isn’t your fault that the Obscurus was formed,” Newt says quietly.

Pickett climbs from Newt’s pocket and over to Credence’s shoulder, where he clicks quietly. The niffler stirs, purring, but doesn’t wake up.

“But Harriet also said you’re good with control. You did what you could to control something that should have killed you—or countless others.”

An arm settles around his shoulders, and Newt pulls Credence a little closer.

“You’re a very exceptional young man,” he continues. “I know how hard it can to be different, but it isn’t bad or wrong. It took me a long time to find people who accepted me for who I am, instead of trying to change me.”

“It’s not the same. You’re not a… a freak.”

Newt holds him a little tighter. “I was called that in school,” he admits. “But I found something that made me happy, and I don’t need to pretend to be something I’m not, because the people who love me—who _really_ love me—love me for what makes me different.” Newt pauses for a moment. “And that’s what we—Percival and Tina and Queenie and I—like about you.”

Credence looks up, seeing Newt’s earnest blue eyes, and he can’t help but believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, somehow it escaped all notice that I have until recently been spelling 'Grindelwald' wrong. I have gone through and corrected it throughout my fanfiction, and I apologize for any medical issues the typo may have caused.


	25. I Know My Weakness, Know My Voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO. I AM ALIVE. I APOLOGIZE SO MUCH FOR THE DELAY WITH THIS CHAPTER. I WAS ATTACKED BY THAT THING KNOWN AS... LIFE. 
> 
> (Specifically, I made the decision to go back to school and had to study for tests and do applications and also my brother got married and I spent the better part of a month making him a present.)
> 
> BUT WHO CARES ABOUT THAT!? I'M BACK, BABY! I'LL TRY TO POST AGAIN SOON. THANK YOU ALL FOR BEING SO PATIENT AND FOR EVERYONE WHO HAS COMMENTED. AND THANK FLIGHTINFLAME FOR BEING AMAZING AND FOR ALL HER HELP.
> 
> Title comes from Babel by Mumford & Sons

Percival hums to himself as he cares for Fluffy. She started out a little fussy, smelling strange humans on him, but calmed down once she had food.

Percival hadn’t expected to ever enjoy caring for the creatures. His parents had made it quite clear as he grew up that manual labor was for no-majs and squibs, but he’d learned to respect those without magic—or with less than himself—after his rescue.

After cleaning the cave that serves as her den, he lets himself be inspected once more by the nundu. Sometimes, she’s more wary of him, since her first time seeing and smelling Percival was when Grindelwald had entered Newt’s case.

The work done, Percival watches Fluffy finish eating. She stares at him, licking her chops.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Percival says, his lips quirking into a reluctant smile. “Your mummy would be very upset if I gave you extra food.”

Fluffy rolls onto her back, rubbing her head against the ground, still making eye contact. She blinks lazily at him.

Percival walks away before she can wear his defenses down any further.

He finds Newt and Credence near the niffler’s mound. Their voices are hushed, but Credence is clearly upset by something. Newt pulls the younger man into his arms, holding him gently.

Credence leans into him so minutely that Percival wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it; his eyes fluttering closed.

Percival’s feet carry him to them without him making a conscious decision to do so.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and frowns when Credence jumps.

“I… I’m fine,” comes the almost whispered response. Credence shuffles to the side like he’s ashamed of the embrace.

Percival kneels in front of him, reaching out to cup his cheek. Heat flares in his gut, a monstrous part of him wanting to lean in and kiss Credence, to erase the memories of Grindelwald and Mary Lou Barebone, and every other person who has failed to care for him.

He doesn’t allow himself to move, to give in to those urges. Credence has spent his life being taken advantage of by people who claimed he could trust them, and Percival can’t let himself be among those numbers.

“You don’t have to pretend with us,” he says. “Newt and I know that sometimes… sometimes being strong requires you to show your weakness.”

“I’ll just disappoint you,” Credence replies.

Newt shakes his head. “You couldn’t.”

“I always do,” he insists, squeezing his eyes shut. “I always let people down. Ma, Modesty and Chastity. Even Mister Grindelwald.”

“If you’d done what Grindelwald wanted, Newt and I and countless others would be dead right now,” Percival says. He lets his hand fall from Credence’s cheek to the swell of his belly. “And you spent three months surviving alone with my child.”

“And you didn’t fail me, either, when your Obscurus took over,” Newt adds, “you fought it—almost at the cost of yourself.”

Percival sits on his heels. “We have faith in you, Credence.” When the younger man doesn’t seem to believe him, he leans forward and captures him in a hug.

There’s a squeaking sound, and Percival leans back to find the niffler glaring up at him.

“I’m sorry,” Percival says.

 The niffler squeaks at him again and turns in circles a few times before curling into a ball on Credence’s lap.

Laughing, Newt gets to his feet. “I’ll go and start creating a pensieve before Nick gets more upset,” he says.

“What’s a pensieve?” Credence asks, watching Newt depart.

“It’s a way to review memories,” Percival answers. “Or to show memories to someone else.”

“He said he could show me when… when he first met me, since I don’t remember it.”

“What _do_ you remember?”

Credence wrings his hands for a moment, his gaze far-off.

“I remember Ma. I’d found a wand under Modesty’s bed—Mister Grindelwald said there was a child, a magical child—and I was worried it might be her. Ma caught me with it, and she got angry. Next thing I knew, she and Chastity were dead and the church was destroyed.

“Mister Grindelwald found me and said Modesty was in danger, and he took me to find her. He said that I was… That I was unteachable. That I wasn’t magical and he knew that from the moment he met me.” He closes his eyes. “I don’t remember anything after that.”

“Grindelwald is an idiot,” Percival muses. “And I’m happy he was wrong about you.”

Credence looks shocked by that.

“If he _had_ realized,” Percival explains, “I never would have met you.”

He throws an arm around Credence’s narrow shoulders, pulling him close. Credence doesn’t seem to know what to do, but he fits against Percival’s side perfectly.

Percival rubs his side gently. “I know this is all new and scary—I don’t know _what_ I’d be doing if I was in your shoes—but I already know you’ll pull through this.”

“I just don’t want to fail you… or the baby.”

“Well, you’re not alone anymore. If there’s anything you need, I’ll do everything in my power to give it to you. And Newt will as well.”

“Thank you,” Credence says.

If there are tears threatening to spill from his eyes, or if his shoulders quake with suppressed emotion, Percival doesn’t comment. He knows better than most how recovery can hurt just as much as the initial pain.

Silence falls between them, broken only by the niffler’s occasional purring or squeaks as it sleeps on Credence’s lap.

Credence calms it each time, running his hand over the soft, dark fur or holding it gently when it shifts and its position becomes too precarious.

Percival watches, his chest tight. He can’t understand how someone who has known so much pain, so much cruelty, can be so gentle and caring. Credence has every reason to reflect his own past onto others, and yet he’s everything he didn’t see from others throughout his life.

He’s too lost in thought to notice Newt returning until the younger man is staring down at them, a bright smile on his face. Percival feels a momentary twist of embarrassment inside himself. He would never abandon Newt—not for Credence or anyone else—but it’s nice to know that Newt clearly isn’t jealous of the protective embrace.

“The pensieve is finished,” Newt says.

The niffler wakes up and, seeming to know that Credence will have to move, waddles off of his lap and over to its mound with an irritated grumble.

Credence bites his lip, glancing at Percival.

“Come on,” Percival says, standing so he can help Credence to his feet. “I think it’s best to get this over with.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on tumblr!](lourdesdeath.tumblr.com)


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